“Look at Phil!  Is he all right?  Oh, look!”

Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right.  He was splashing and struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; suddenly he gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down.  Ashurst saw the girl launch herself towards him, and crying out:  “Go back, Stella!  Go back!” he dashed out.  He had never swum so fast, and reached Halliday just as he was coming up a second time.  It was a case of cramp, but to get him in was not difficult, for he did not struggle.  The girl, who had stopped where Ashurst told her to, helped as soon as he was in his depth, and once on the beach they sat down one on each side of him to rub his limbs, while the little ones stood by with scared faces.  Halliday was soon smiling.  It was—­he said—­rotten of him, absolutely rotten!  If Frank would give him an arm, he could get to his clothes all right now.  Ashurst gave him the arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella’s face, wet and flushed and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he thought:  ‘I called her Stella!  Wonder if she minded?’

While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, “You saved my life, old chap!”

“Rot!”

Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all together to the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was lying down in his room.  After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina said: 

“I say, you know, you are a brick!” And Freda chimed in: 

“Rather!”

Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to the window.  From there he heard Sabina mutter:  “I say, let’s swear blood bond.  Where’s your knife, Freda?” and out of the corner of his eye could see each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of blood and dabble on a bit of paper.  He turned and made for the door.

“Don’t be a stoat!  Come back!” His arms were seized; imprisoned between the little girls he was brought back to the table.  On it lay a piece of paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella Halliday, Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday—­also in blood, running towards it like the rays of a star.  Sabina said: 

“That’s you.  We shall have to kiss you, you know.”

And Freda echoed: 

“Oh!  Blow—­Yes!”

Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his face, something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left arm pinched, and other teeth softly searching his cheek.  Then he was released, and Freda said: 

“Now, Stella.”

Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid Stella.  Sabina giggled; Freda cried: 

“Buck up—­it spoils everything!”

A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst:  then he said quietly: 

“Shut up, you little demons!”

Again Sabina giggled.

“Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your nose.  It is on one side!”