Sally must have heard there had been some family dissension at Ladbroke Grove Road as she came into the bath with Laetitia, whom she met at the towel-yielding _guichet_. However, the latter wasn't disposed to discuss family matters in an open swimming-bath in the hearing of the custodian, to say nothing of possible concealed dressers in horse-boxes alongside. "My dear child, _is_ this the place to talk about things in? _Do_ be a little discreet sometimes," is her reply to Sally's request. "There's nobody here but us. Cut away, Tishy!" But Miss Wilson will _not_ talk about the row, whatever it was, with the chance of goodness-knows-who coming in any minute. For one thing, she wants to enjoy the telling, and not to be interrupted. So it is deferred to a more fitting season and place. Goodness-knows-who (presumably) came in in the shape of Henriette Prince, who was, after Sally, the next best swimmer in the Ladies' Club. After a short race or two, won by Sally in spite of heavy odds against her, the two girls turned their attention to the art of rescuing drowning persons. A very amusing game was played, each alternately committing suicide off the edge of the bath while the other took a header to her rescue from the elevation which we just now saw Sally on ready to plunge. The rules were clear. The suicide was to do her best to drag the rescuer under water and to avoid being dragged into the shallow end of the bath. "I know you'll both get drowned if you play those tricks," says Laetitia nervously. "No--we _shan't_," vociferates Sally from the brink. "Now, are you ready, Miss Prince? Very well. Tishy, count ten!" "Oh, I wish you wouldn't! One--two--three...." And Laetitia, all whose dignity and force of character go when she is bathing, does as she is bidden, and, at the "ten," the suicide, with a cry of despair, hurls herself madly into the water, and the rescuer flies to her succour. What she has to do is to grasp the struggling quarry by the elbows from behind and keep out of the reach of her hands. But the tussle that ensues in the water is a short one, for the rescuer is no match for the supposed involuntary resistance of the convulsed suicide, who eludes the coming grasp of her hand with eel-like dexterity, and has her round the waist and drags her under water in a couple of seconds. "There now!" says Sally triumphantly, as they stand spluttering and choking in the shallow water to recover breath. "Didn't I do that beautifully?" "Well, but _anybody_ could like that. When real people are drowning they don't do it like that." Miss Prince is rather rueful about it. But Sally is exultant. "Oh, don't they!" she says. "They're worse when it's real drowning--heaps worse!" Whereon both the other girls affirm in chorus that then nobody can be saved without the Humane Society's drags--unless, indeed, you wait till they are insensible.