bathing costume and to run down to the shore thus equipped, discarding
the mackintosh before entering the water and leaving it in the charge of
Cinders.

Cinders never went treasure-hunting on these occasions, but invariably
sat bolt upright, brimful of importance, watching his mistress's
proceedings from afar with eager eyes and quivering nose. He would never
be persuaded to follow her, owing to a rooted objection to wetting his
feet. He was, as a rule, very patient; but if she kept him waiting beyond
the bounds of patience he howled in a heartrending fashion that always
brought her back.

Chris was a good swimmer, and had a boy's healthy love of the sea. Great
was her joy when her injured foot healed sufficiently for her to resume
the morning bathe. Mademoiselle Gautier's pleasure was not so keen, but
then--poor Mademoiselle!--who could expect it? Besides, what could she
know of the exquisite enjoyment of floating on a summer sea with the
summer sun in one's eyes and wave after gentle wave rocking one to drowsy
content?

The only drawback was the impossibility of diving, Chris longed for a
dive on that brilliant morning, longed for the headlong rush through
water, the greenness of it below the surface, the sparkling spray above.
If only she could have commandeered a boat! But that would have entailed
a boatman, and Mademoiselle would have been scandalized at the bare
suggestion.

"She would make me bathe in a coat and skirt and a hat if she could,"
reflected Chris, shaking the wet hair out of her eyes.