Her voice changed. "You're trying to be smart," she reprimanded.
"Sorry," I said, in a tone of contrition, "for I am not a bit smart in spite of my trying. Well,—I swam across from the wharf over there."
She looked up. "Being smart some more."
"No!—it is true."
She measured the distance from the island to the wharf with her eye.
I remarked, some time ago, that her hair was of the darkest shade of brown. I was wrong;—there was a darker hue still, and that was in her eyes; while her skin was of that attractive combination, olive and pink.
"Gee!—that was some swim.
"How are you going to get back?" she continued, in open friendliness.
"Swim!"
"Ain't you tired?"