‘Here’s a big wave going to be a wall.’

‘Off he rolls.’

‘He’s like the High Brent broad meadow under Elling Wood.’

‘Don’t let Miss Vincent hear you.’

’They ’re not waves; they ‘re sighs of the deep.’

’A poet I swim with!  He fell into the deep in his first of May morning ducks.  We used to expect him.’

‘I never expected to owe them so much.’

Pride of the swimmer and the energy of her joy embraced Aminta, that she might nerve all her powers to gain the half-minute for speaking at her ease.

’Who ’d have thought of a morning like this?  You were looked for last night.’

’A lucky accident to our coach.  I made friends with the skipper of the yawl.’

‘I saw the boat.  Who could have dreamed—?  Anything may happen now.’

For nothing further would astonish her, as he rightly understood her; but he said:  ’You ‘re prepared for the rites?  Old Triton is ready.’

‘Float, and tell me.’

They spun about to lie on their backs.  Her right hand, at piano-work of the octave-shake, was touched and taken, and she did not pull it away.  Her eyelids fell.

‘Old Triton waits.’

‘Why?’

’We ‘re going to him.’

‘Yes?’

‘Customs of the sea.’

‘Tell me.’

’He joins hands.  We say, “Browny-Matey,” and it ‘s done.’

She splashed, crying ‘Swim,’ and after two strokes, ’You want to beat me, Matey Weyburn.’

‘How?’

‘Not fair!’

‘Say what.’

’Take my breath.  But, yes! we’ll be happy in our own way.  We ’re sea-birds.  We ’ve said adieu to land.  Not to one another.  We shall be friends?’

‘Always.’

‘This is going to last?’

‘Ever so long.’

They had a spell of steady swimming, companionship to inspirit it.  Browny was allowed place a little foremost, and she guessed not wherefore, in her flattered emulation.

’I ‘m bound for France.’

‘Slew a point to the right:  South-east by South.  We shall hit Dunkerque.’

‘I don’t mean to be picked up by boats.’

‘We’ll decline.’

‘You see I can swim.’

‘I was sure of it.’

They stopped their talk—­for the pleasure of the body to be savoured in the mind, they thought; and so took Nature’s counsel to rest their voices awhile.

Considering that she had not been used of late to long immersions, and had not broken her fast, and had talked much, for a sea-nymph, Weyburn spied behind him on a shore seeming flat down, far removed.

‘France next time,’ he said:  ‘we’ll face to the rear.’

‘Now?’ said she, big with blissful conceit of her powers and incredulous of such a command from him.

‘You may be feeling tired presently.’

The musical sincerity of her ‘Oh no, not I!’ sped through his limbs; he had a willingness to go onward still some way.