It was only the work of a moment for Durand swimming as he could swim, and the next second he had grasped the child and was making for the Frolic, clear-headed enough to doubt the chance of aid being rendered by the people on the launch from which the child had fallen, but absolutely sure of Peggy’s cooperation, for he had tested it under similar conditions once before when a couple of inexperienced plebes had been capsized from a canoe on the Severn, and Peggy, who had been out in her sailboat at the time, had sped to their rescue.  A boat-hook was promptly held out to the swimmer and he and his burden were both safe on board the Frolic a moment later, neither much the worse for their dip, though the child was screaming with terror, answering screams from one of the women in the other launch indicating that she had some claim to the unfortunate one.

“She’s all right.  Not a hair harmed.  Keep cool and we’ll come alongside,” ordered Captain Stewart.  “Not the least harm done in the world.”

But the woman continued to shriek and rave until Mrs. Harold said: 

“I would like to shake her soundly.  If she had been paying any attention to the child the accident never could have happened.”

The dripping baby was transferred to her mother, Captain Harold had clapped Durand on the back and cried:  “Boy, you’re a trump of the first water,” and the rest of the party were telling Peggy that she was “a brick” and “a first-class sport,” and “a darling,” according to the vocabulary or sex of the individual, when the second feminine occupant of the launch which had been the cause of all the excitement, electrified every one on the Frolic by exclaiming: 

“Why, Neil!  Neil Stewart!  Is it possible after all these years?  Don’t you know me?  Don’t you know Katherine?  Peyton’s wife!”

For a moment Neil Stewart looked nonplussed.  His only brother had married years before.  Neil had attended the wedding, meeting the bride then, and only twice afterward, for his brother had died two years after his marriage and Neil had never since laid eyes upon Peyton’s wife.  If the truth must be told he had not been eager to, for she was not the type of woman who attracted him in the least.  Yet here she was before him.  By this time the launches had been run up to one of the docks upon the West shore of the Thames.  Naturally, both consolation for the emotional mother of the child as well as introductions were now in order, Mrs. Harold and Captain Stewart offering their services.  These, however, were declined, but Mrs. Peyton Stewart embraced the opportunity to rhapsodize over “that darling child who had handled the launch with such marvelous skill and been instrumental in saving sweet little Clare’s life.”  Durand, drying off in the launch, seemed to be quite out of her consideration in the scheme of things, for which Durand was duly thankful, for he had taken one of his swift, inexplicable aversions to her.  But Madam continued to gash over poor Peggy until that modest little girl was well-nigh beside herself.