“It would be all right once you’re through the breakers,” suggested Tony. “There’s a chap swimming out there, I see.”
He pointed to where a wet, dark head bobbed up and down like a cork beyond reach of the waves that reared themselves up to an immense height before they crashed down in a flurry of whirling foam on the beaten shore.
“Tough work, though,” replied Robin. “There’s the deuce of a current running over there, and Ann’s not an experienced enough swimmer to tackle a drag like that.”
Ann’s face had fallen. The idea of foregoing her daily plunge did not commend itself to her in the least.
“I don’t see why I can’t have a dip—just get wet, you know,” she remonstrated wistfully.
“You mustn’t think of such a thing!” came in quick, imperative tones. Startled, she turned round to find Forrester standing at her elbow, with Cara Hilyard beside him. Amid the hurly-burly of noise created by the breakers she had not noticed the sound of their approach.
“Do you hear?” he repeated. “You mustn’t think of bathing to-day.”
Ann’s head went up. The imperious speech, uttered as though it were a foregone conclusion that she would meekly obey its mandate, roused her to instant opposition.
“But I am thinking of it,” she replied, masking her irritation beneath an outward assumption of calm.
“I really don’t think you should,” said Cara persuasively.