for an explanation.  He wondered whether Sally meant the affair to be forgotten.  Perhaps her senses had run away with her just as his had, and, treating what had occurred as an accident due to unusual circumstances, it might be that she had decided to put the matter out of her mind.  It was ascribing to her a power of thought and a mature wisdom which fitted neither with her age nor with her character.  But he realised that he knew nothing of her.  There had been in her always something enigmatic.

They played leap-frog in the water, and the bathe was as uproarious as on the previous day.  Sally mothered them all, keeping a watchful eye on them, and calling to them when they went out too far.  She swam staidly backwards and forwards while the others got up to their larks, and now and then turned on her back to float.  Presently she went out and began drying herself; she called to the others more or less peremptorily, and at last only Philip was left in the water.  He took the opportunity to have a good hard swim.  He was more used to the cold water this second morning, and he revelled in its salt freshness; it rejoiced him to use his limbs freely, and he covered the water with long, firm strokes.  But Sally, with a towel round her, went down to the water’s edge.

“You’re to come out this minute, Philip,” she called, as though he were a small boy under her charge.

And when, smiling with amusement at her authoritative way, he came towards her, she upbraided him.

“It is naughty of you to stay in so long.  Your lips are quite blue, and just look at your teeth, they’re chattering.”

“All right.  I’ll come out.”

She had never talked to him in that manner before.  It was as though what had happened gave her a sort of right over him, and she looked upon him as a child to be cared for.  In a few minutes they were dressed, and they started to walk back.  Sally noticed his hands.

“Just look, they’re quite blue.”

“Oh, that’s all right.  It’s only the circulation.  I shall get the blood back in a minute.”

“Give them to me.”

She took his hands in hers and rubbed them, first one and then the other, till the colour returned.  Philip, touched and puzzled, watched her.  He could not say anything to her on account of the children, and he did not meet her eyes; but he was sure they did not avoid his purposely, it just happened that they did not meet.  And during the day there was nothing in her behaviour to suggest a consciousness in her that anything had passed between them.  Perhaps she was a little more talkative than usual.  When they were all sitting again in the hop-field she told her mother how naughty Philip had been in not coming out of the water till he was blue with cold.  It was incredible, and yet it seemed that the only effect of the incident of the night before was to arouse in her a feeling of protection towards him:  she had the same instinctive desire to mother him as she had with regard to her brothers and sisters.