"Not a bit. But horribly unhappy. I must look a sight." Then,
remembering her manners, as the Street had it, she said primly:-"Thank you for saving me."
"There wasn't any danger, really, unless--unless the river had risen."
And then, suddenly, he burst into delighted laughter, the first, perhaps,
for months. He shook with it, struggled at the sight of her injured face
to restrain it, achieved finally a degree of sobriety by fixing his eyes on
the river-bank.
"When you have quite finished," said Sidney severely, "perhaps you will
take me to the hotel. I dare say I shall have to be washed and ironed."
He drew her cautiously to her feet. Her wet skirts clung to her; her shoes
were sodden and heavy. She clung to him frantically, her eyes on the river
below. With the touch of her hands the man's mirth died. He held her very
carefully, very tenderly, as one holds something infinitely precious.