“Be brave,” I said excitedly; “I can save you.” 

 “I should be most awfully obliged,” he said. 

 “Do exactly as I tell you.” 

 “I say,” he remonstrated, “you’re not going to drag me along by the roots of my hair, are you?” 

 The natural timidity of man is, I find, attractive. 

 I helped him to the boat, and he climbed in. I trod water, clinging with one hand to the stern. 

 “Allow me,” he said, bending down. 

 “No, thank you,” I replied. 

 “Not, really?” 

 “Thank you very much, but I think I will stay where I am.” 

 “But you may get cramp. By the way—I’m really frightfully obliged to you for saving my life—I mean, a perfect stranger—I’m afraid it’s quite spoiled your dip.” 

 “Not at all,” I said politely. “Did you get cramp?” 

 “A twinge. It was awfully kind of you.” 

 “Not at all.” 

 Then there was a rather awkward silence. 

 “Is this your first visit to Guernsey?” I asked. 

 “Yes; I arrived yesterday. It’s a delightful place. Do you live here?” 

 “Yes; that white cottage you can just see through the trees.” 

 “I suppose I couldn’t give you a tow anywhere?” 

 “No; thank you very much. I will swim back.” 

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