“Catch a death of cold!” I ejaculated. “It is only good, pretty little girls, who are a blessing to everyone, who die for such trifles; girls like I am always live till nearly ninety, to plague themselves and everybody else. I’ll sneak home so that your aunt won’t see me, and no one need be a bit the wiser.”
“You’ll be sun-struck!” he said in dismay.
“Take care you don’t get daughter-struck,” I said perkily, turning to flee, for it had suddenly dawned upon me that my thin wet clothing was outlining my figure rather too clearly for propriety.
By a circuitous way I managed to reach my bedroom unseen. It did not take me long to change my clothes, hang them to dry, and appear on the main veranda where Miss Augusta was still sewing. I picked up the book I had left on the mat, and, taking up a position in a hammock near her, I commenced to read.
“You did not stay long at the river,” she remarked. “Have you been washing your head? I never saw the like of it. Such a mass of it. It will take all day to dry.”
Half an hour later Harold appeared dressed in a warm suit of tweed. He was looking pale and languid, as though he had caught a chill, and shivered as he threw himself on a lounge. I was feeling none the worse for my immersion.
“Why did you change your clothes, Harold? You surely weren’t cold on a day like this. Sybylla has changed hers too, when I come to notice it, and her hair is wet. Have you had an accident?” said Miss Augusta, rising from her chair in a startled manner.
“Rubbish!” ejaculated Harold in a tone which forbade further questioning, and the matter dropped.
She presently left the veranda, and I took the opportunity to say, “It is yourself that requires the hot bath and a drop of spirits, Mr Beecham.”
“Yes; I think I’ll take a good stiff nobbler. I feel a trifle squeamish. It gave me a bit of a turn when I rose to the top and could not see you. I was afraid the boat might have stunned you in capsizing, and you would be drowned before I could find you.”