"I'm Miss Lily Dale--" and added her street and number. Maurice, in his shirt sleeves, lifted his hat; then looked at Edith and grinned. "Did you ever see such idiots? Those men are chumps. Did you hear the fat one jaw at the girl?" "Did he?" Edith said, timidly. She could hardly bear to look at Maurice, he was so wonderful. But he, entirely good-natured again, was overflowing with fun. "Let's turn around," he said, "and follow 'em! That fatty was rather happy--did you get on to that flask?" Edith had no idea what he meant, but she said, breathlessly, "Yes, Maurice." In her own mind she was seeing again that princely gesture, that marvelous tossing of his own coat to the "lady"! "He is _exactly_ like Sir Walter Raleigh," she said to herself. She remembered how at Green Hill she had wanted him to spread his coat before Eleanor's feet;--but _that_ was commonplace! Eleanor was just a married person, "like mother." This was a wonderful drowning lady! Oh, he _was_ Sir Walter! Her eyes were wide with an entirely new emotion--an emotion which made her draw back sharply when once, as he rowed, his hand touched hers. She was afraid of that careless touch. Yet oh, if he would only give _her_ some of his clothes! Oh, why hadn't _she_ fallen into the water! Her heart beat so that she felt she could not speak. It was not necessary; Maurice, singing a song appropriate to the lady with the red cheeks, was not aware of her silence. "I bet," he said, "that cad takes it out of the little thing! She looked scared, didn't you think, Edith?" "Yes, ... _sir_" the little girl said, breathlessly. Maurice did not notice the new word; "Sorry not to take you down to the Point," he said; "but I ought to keep tabs on that boat. If they capsize again, somebody really might get hurt. She's a--a little fool, of course; but I'd hate to have the fat brute drown her, and he looks capable of it." However, trailing along in the deepening dusk behind the fat brute, who was rowing hard against the current, they saw the dripping survivors of the shipwreck reach the wharf safely five minutes ahead of them, and scurry off into the darkness of the street. Maurice, in high spirits, had quite forgiven Eleanor. "I meant to treat you to ice cream, Skeezics," he said, "but I can't go into the hotel. Shirt sleeves wouldn't be admitted in the elegant circles of the Mercer House!" Instantly a very youthful disappointment readjusted things for Edith; she forgot that strange consciousness which had made her shrink from his careless touch; she had no impulse to say "sir"; she was back again at the point at which the red-cheeked lady had broken in upon their lives. She said, frowning: "My! I did want some ice cream. I _wish_ you hadn't given the lady your coat!" When Maurice got home, he found a repentant Eleanor bathing very red and swollen eyes. "How's your head?" he said, as he came, in his shirt sleeves, into her room; she, turning to kiss him and say it was better, stopped short.