“Now what are we to do?” asked Orianda. She wore a white muslin frock, a country frock, and a large straw hat with poppies, a country hat. They approached a column of trees. In the soft smooth wind the foliage of the willows was tossed into delicate greys. Orianda said they looked like cockshy heads on spindly necks. She would like to shy at them, but she was tired. “I know what we _could_ do.” Orianda glanced around the landscape, trees, and bushes; the river was narrow, though deep, not more than forty feet across, and had high banks. “You can swim, Gerald?” Yes, Gerald could swim rather well. “Then let’s swim it, Gerald, and carry our own clothes over.” “Can you swim, Orianda?” Yes, Orianda could swim rather well. “All right then,” he said. “I’ll go down here a little way.” “O, don’t go far, I don’t want you to go far away, Gerald,” and she added softly, “my dear.” “No, I won’t go far,” he said, and sat down behind a bush a hundred yards away. Here he undressed, flung his shoes one after the other across the river, and swimming on his back carried his clothes over in two journeys. As he sat drying in the sunlight he heard a shout from Orianda. He peeped out and saw her sporting in the stream quite close below him. She swam with a graceful overarm stroke that tossed a spray of drops behind her and launched her body as easily as a fish’s. Her hair was bound in a handkerchief. She waved a hand to him. “You’ve done it! Bravo! What courage! Wait for me. Lovely.” She turned away like an eel, and at every two or three strokes she spat into the air a gay little fountain of water. How extraordinary she was. Gerald wished he had not hurried. By and by he slipped into the water again and swam upstream. He could not see her. “Have you finished?” he cried. “I have finished, yes.” Her voice was close above his head. She was lying in the grass, her face propped between her palms, smiling down at him. He could see bare arms and shoulders. “Got your clothes across?” “Of course.” “All dry?” She nodded. “How many journeys? I made two.” “Two,” said Orianda briefly. “You’re all right then.” He wafted a kiss, swam back, and dressed slowly. Then as she did not appear he wandered along to her humming a discreet and very audible hum as he went. When he came upon her she still lay upon the grass most scantily clothed. “I beg your pardon,” he said hastily, and full of surprise and modesty walked away. The unembarrassed girl called after him: “Drying my hair.” “All right”—he did not turn round—“no hurry.”