"She must have been a weak sister," Graham commented; while he struggled with a wanton desire for a match so that he could strike it and see how Paula Forrest looked paddling there beside him to keep afloat.
"She had a fair measure of excuse," Paula answered. "She was a young thing--eighteen; and she had a sort of school-girl infatuation for Dick. They all get it. You see, he's such a boy when he's playing that they can't realize that he's a hard-bitten, hard-working, deep- thinking, mature, elderly benedict. The embarrassing thing was that the little girl, when she was first revived and before she could gather her wits, exposed all her secret heart. Dick's face was a study while she babbled her--"
"Well?--going to stay there all night?" Bert Wainwright's voice came down the pipe, sounding megaphonically close.
"Heavens!" Graham sighed with relief; for he had startled and clutched Paula's arm. "That's the time I got my fright. The little maiden is avenged. Also, at last, I know what a lead-pipe cinch is."
"And it's time we started for the outer world," she suggested. "It's not the coziest gossiping place in the world. Shall I go first?"
"By all means--and I'll be right behind; although it's a pity the water isn't phosphorescent. Then I could follow your incandescent heel like that chap Byron wrote about--don't you remember?"
He heard her appreciative gurgle in the dark, and then her: "Well, I'm going now."
Unable to see the slightest glimmer, nevertheless, from the few sounds she made he knew she had turned over and gone down head first, and he was not beyond visioning with inner sight the graceful way in which she had done it--an anything but graceful feat as the average swimming woman accomplishes it.
"Somebody gave it away to you," was Bert's prompt accusal, when Graham rose to the surface of the tank and climbed out.
"And you were the scoundrel who rapped stone under water," Graham challenged. "If I'd lost I'd have protested the bet. It was a crooked game, a conspiracy, and competent counsel, I am confident, would declare it a felony. It's a case for the district attorney."
"But you won," Ernestine cried.
"I certainly did, and, therefore, I shall not prosecute you, nor any one of your crooked gang--if the bets are paid promptly. Let me see-- you owe me a box of cigars--"
"One cigar, sir!"
"A box! A box!" "Cross tag!" Paula cried. "Let's play cross-tag!-- You're IT!"