He heard her, and came toward her in a halting, dazed way, stopping twice to cleanse his face of the bright blood that streaked it.
"It's nothing," he said—"the infernal thing hit me. . . . Oh, don't use that!" as she drenched her kerchief in cold sea-water and held it toward him with both hands.
"Take it!—I—I beg of you," she stammered. "Is it s-serious?"
"Why, no," he said, his senses clearing; "it was only a rap on the head—and this blood is merely a nuisance. . . . Thank you, I will use your kerchief if you insist. . . . It'll stop in a moment, anyway."
"Please sit here," she said—"here where I've been sitting."
He did so, muttering: "What a nuisance. It will stop in a second. . . . You needn't remain here with me, you know. Go in; it is simply glorious."
"I've been in; I was drying my hair."
He glanced up, smiling; then, as the wet kerchief against his forehead reddened, he started to rise, but she took it from his fingers, hastened to the water's edge, rinsed it, and brought it back cold and wet.
"Please sit perfectly still," she said; "a girl likes to do this sort of thing for a man."
"If I'd known that," he laughed, "I'd have had it happen frequently."