There was a big splash as another body hurtled down and struck the waves.
It was unfortunate that George had never learnt how to swim. After he had gurgled around for two breathless submersions, Irma took compassion on him and dragged him out. They have excellent aquatic sports in Pasadena.
“I’m sorry, George, really,” said Irma tenderly. “I never thought for a minute that you couldn’t swim. Will you forgive me?”
“No,” replied George. “Good-night.”
He walked off without further remark. His soggy clothes clung about him; his shoes squirted water from all openings; and he felt damp. Irma followed at a respectful distance. She felt strangely in the wrong.
It was about twelve o’clock when the dripping pair reached the Continental Hotel. To their intense relief there were few people on the streets to see them. In the lobby Irma forced George to take her hand and say good-night in a pleasant tone of voice.
“It was really splendid of you to jump in like that when you might have drowned. I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself, much less expect you to do it. But I hope you will. I was certainly an awful fool to-night.”
George made a fierce effort and regained his poise.
“‘There’s little comfort in the wise’,” he remarked. “Good-night, Irma.”
When Mrs. Bench caught sight of her bedraggled and rather miserable daughter sloshing into the room, she was naturally surprised and quite wrought up.