“I was wide awake,” returned Corin with some dignity.
It is not certain whether the imputation of sleepiness had hurt his susceptible feelings, or whether it was merely irritation at finding himself observed when he thought himself alone, at all events there was the faintest trace of asperity in his manner.
David regarded him perplexed. The slight asperity was obvious. But what on earth had caused it?
And then, whatever the cause, Corin felt a trifle ashamed.
“But what,” he demanded, waving his hand seawards, “are the mad things up to? What possible pleasure or profit can they find in tumbling head first into the water? If it weren’t,” concluded Corin solemnly, “that I conceive them to be brainless, I should imagine that they would be suffering by now from violent headaches.”
“Oh,” responded David laughing, “they are just diving.”
“Just diving?” echoed Corin. “But why from such a height? Why don’t they get lower to the water, first, if they want to dive?”
“Ask me another,” said David, smiling lazily. “I suppose it’s habit, nature, whatever you like to call it.”
Corin shook his head, as who should say, given a free hand he’d instil vastly better habits. Aloud he said:
“This is an extraordinarily pleasant spot.”