I let myself go, down the smooth shelving rock upon which I had been lying. I dropped noiselessly far down into the deep water. I came up and struck out for home,--all my previous lassitude gone from me. I was swimming along leisurely, interested only in my thoughts and the water immediately around me, when something a bit ahead attracted my attention. I was half-way between Rita's Isle and the shore at the time. The object in front kept bobbing,--bobbing. At first, I took it to be part of a semi-submerged log, but as I drew nearer I was quite surprised to find that it was an early morning swimmer like myself. Nearer still, and I discovered that the swimmer was a woman whose hair was bound securely by a multi-coloured, heavy, silk muffler, such as certain types of London Johnnies affected for a time. Whoever the swimmer was, she had already gone at least half a mile, for that was the distance to the nearest point of land and there was no boat of any kind in her tracks. Half a mile!--and another half-mile to go! Quite a swim for a lady! Afraid lest it should prove more than enough for a member of what I had always been taught to recognise as the more delicately constituted of the sexes, I drew closer to the swimmer. When only a few yards behind, she turned round with a startled exclamation. It was Mary Grant. A chill ran along my spine. I became unreasonable immediately. What right had she to run risks of this nature? Was there not plenty of water for her to swim in near the shore where she would be within easy hail of the land should she become exhausted? Almost angrily, I narrowed the space between us. She had recognised me at her first glimpse. "Are you not rather far from the shore, Miss Grant?" I inquired bruskly. "Thank you! Not a bit too far," she exclaimed, keeping up a steady progress through the water. She moved easily and did not betray any signs of weariness, except it were in a catching of her voice, which almost every one has who talks in the water after a long swim. I could not but admire the power of her swimming, despite the evident fact that she was not at all speedy. "But you have no right to risk your life out here, when you do not know the coast," I retorted. "What right have you to question my rights, sir?" she answered haughtily. "Please go away." "I spoke for your own good," I continued. "There may be currents in the Bay that you know nothing of. Besides, the driftwood itself is dangerous this morning." She did not reply for a bit, but kept steadily on. When I took up my position a few yards to the left and on a level with her, she turned on me indignantly. "Excuse me, Sir Impertinence,--but do you take me for a child or a fool? Are you one of those inflated individuals who imagines that masculine man is the only animal that can do anything?"