He drew on her, but he was distant, and she waved an arm. The shout of her glee sprang from her: 'Matey!' He waved; she heard his voice. Was it her name? He was not so drunken of the sea as she: he had not leapt out of bondage into buoyant waters, into a youth without a blot, without an aim, satisfied in tasting; the dream of the long felicity. A thought brushed by her: How if he were absent? It relaxed her stroke of arms and legs. He had doubled the salt sea's rapture, and he had shackled its gift of freedom. She turned to float, gathering her knees for the funny sullen kick, until she heard him near. At once her stroke was renewed vigorously; she had the foot of her pursuer, and she called, 'Adieu, Matey Weyburn!' Her bravado deserved a swifter humiliation than he was able to bring down on her: she swam bravely, and she was divine to see ahead as well as overtake. Darting to the close parallel, he said: 'What sea nymph sang me my name?' She smote a pang of her ecstasy into him: 'Ask mine!' 'Browny!' They swam; neither of them panted; their heads were water-flowers that spoke at ease. 'We 've run from school; we won't go back.' 'We 've a kingdom.' '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.'