She raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. He was sure there was a twinkle in the downcast eyes, but it was equally evident that the girl did not intend to encourage his presumption by any speech. As he watched her with a swiftly increasing interest, she turned over upon her back with a complacence that was a rebuke, floating unconcernedly past him.
Merrington followed. That he was being remorselessly snubbed for his pains was giving him a novel sensation of self-pity that did not seem to affect his genial humor very acutely. It served to keep him silent, however. When Jacqueline sat up suddenly, the first thing that she saw was Merrington’s gleaming eyes looking into her own. He had been so near to her, when she unexpectedly faced him, that she could not ignore his presence. Had he spoken, she might have used silence to positive purpose. As it was, she said, coldly:
“You are strangely persistent.”
“I am never conquered,” he boasted.
For a brief moment she let her glance sweep over him as he lay in the transparent shadow of the waves. A sense of vexation at his superb virility, at his assured mastery of the situation, left her trembling. Merrington misconstrued the reason.
“You are becoming chilled. We are a long way from the shore. If you were to have a cramp now!”
“You’d have the cheap distinction of being a hero of the beach,” she ejaculated, uncompromisingly rude.
“The poor opinion of the beach would not affect me in the least,” he laughed, softly, “if you did not share it.”
“Mr. Merrington,” she flashed, “if you will swim back to the shore, I shall follow you at an agreeable distance.”
“You have given me the slip once,” he said, slowly. “I am acting ex officio; I fear I must be the judge of the agreeableness of the distance.” Abruptly his banter fell from him. The dancing light in his large eyes darkened into intensity. “Won’t you let me see you safely in, Miss Selwyn?”