I placed her on one of the seats as soon as I had pulled her out of the water, expecting her to faint, or do some other womanish thing. She brushed the water from her eyes, and bending down so that she could look under the foresail, she caught a glimpse of the lady on the pier.
"Take me away from here—O, do!" said she, bestowing a pleading look upon me.
"Where shall I land you?" I asked, in gentle tones.
"Anywhere but here—don't leave me here," she replied, earnestly, and hardly less agitated than when she had leaped into the lake.
"But you are wet through, and you may take cold," I suggested, mildly.
"I don't care if I do. It makes no difference. Take me away from here."
"Where shall I land you?" I asked again, puzzled by her singular conduct.
"I don't care where; but if you land me here I shall jump into the lake again."
Bob Hale had put the helm up, and the Splash had filled away again on her former course, which was bearing us away from the pier on which the lady still stood.
"Shall I come about?" asked he, apparently satisfied that the only thing we could do was to land the young lady on the pier.