"Don't struggle! Keep quiet and leave it to me," said Jim, calmly; and the sound of his voice seemed to have a soothing effect upon the drowning girl. She rested in his circling arm quite comfortably, and before another minute he found a footing and then waded ashore with both arms around her, while Susie's envious friends scampered out beside him and insisted upon helping to restore her.
Very gently the big fellow laid her on the sand and knelt anxiously beside her. But she had been rescued at exactly the right moment, so now she opened her eyes, smiled sweetly, and heaved a sigh.
"Oh, thank you! Thank you, sir, for saving me!" she said. The voice was pretty husky for a girl that had to be held, but Jim was young and did not notice that.
"Don't mention it," he replied, delighted to find she was likely to live. "You'd better get home as soon as possible, and have a good rub-down and a glass of tonic. May I assist you?"
"If you please. I know it's foolish and—and silly; but I'm so frightened and weak yet."
"Naturally," replied the sympathetic hero; and then the heiress, who could stand no more foolishness, jerked Susie to her feet before she had a chance to smile into the boy's grave eyes again. That was wasted energy, of course, for Susie just now absolutely controlled the situation. Her delicate form swayed so visibly that the boy seized her arm at once, and Clara thoughtfully usurped the other arm and began to lavish such tender devotion upon her that Gladys laughed outright—a cold, harsh laugh that sent a shiver down the heiress' back and made her vow to "get even" at the first opportunity.
Mischievous Susie was dying for a good laugh herself at the complete success of her stratagem; but she mastered the impulse and, letting Jim support her as much as he would, tottered slowly along the beach in the direction of home. The girls surrounded her, flooding her with eager questions of how it had happened and how she felt, and generous praises of her brave and noble rescuer. For none except the heiress could withhold her admiration for Susie's cleverness or was the least bit jealous.
On the way they were all introduced, in the most natural manner, to the man of the hour, and then the heroine enquired in a languid tone that could not disguise her meaning: "What time is it, Clara dear?"
"Oh, less than half an hour since you attempted suicide," returned the heiress, composedly. "Brace up, Susie dear, for I'm going to buy you a sundae tonight."
Of course the young man didn't understand this speech. He left the girl "whose life he had saved" at the Carleton porch, and begged permission to call in the evening and enquire after her—a permission instantly granted.