“Bessie King saw you go overboard and jumped after you. Of course, the girls on your boat were pretty helpless–she was going all around in circles after you left the tiller free, so they couldn’t do anything.”
Gladys closed her eyes for a moment.
“I’d like to talk to her later–when I feel better,” she said. “I think I’ll try to go to sleep now, if I may. The pain in my head is dreadful.”
“Yes, that’s the best thing you can do,” said Eleanor warmly. “You’ll feel ever so much better, I know, when you wake up. Someone will be here with you all the time, so that if you wake up and want anything, you’ll only need to ask for it.”
But Gladys was asleep before Eleanor had finished speaking. Nature was taking charge of the case and prescribing the greatest of all her remedies, sleep.
Eleanor turned away, with relief showing plainly in her eyes.
“I think she’ll be all right now,” she said. “If that blow were going to have any serious effects, I don’t believe she’d be in her senses now.”
“I think it’s a good thing it happened, in a way,” said Dolly, when they were outside of the tent. “Did you notice how she spoke about Bessie, Miss Eleanor?”
“Yes. I see what you mean, Dolly. Of course, I’m sorry she had to have such an experience, but maybe you’re right, after all. I’m quite sure that her feelings toward Bessie will be changed after this–she’d have to be a dreadful sort of girl if she could keep on cherishing her dislike and resentment. And I’m sure she’s not.”
“Hello! Why aren’t you in bed, sleeping off that ducking?” asked Dolly suddenly. For Bessie, in dry clothes, and looking as if she had had nothing more exciting than an ordinary plunge into the sea to fill her day, was coming toward them from her own tent.