In the silence that followed the rousing cheer of joy at their return, Floy turned to her dripping cavalier, saying demurely: “I thank you from my heart, Mr. Beresford, for your noble attempt to save my life. I was not in any danger, it is true, for I can swim like a duck, but of course you did not know that, and you are just as truly a real hero as if your brave attempts had indeed saved me from a watery grave.” There was a swelling murmur of surprise from all around her, and one little girl, bolder than the rest, came up and said: “Why, Floy, didn’t you intend to drown yourself after all?” Floy tossed back her wet curly mass of short ringlets, and returned merrily: “Of course not, little goosie; why should I be so silly as to kill myself, I that am so young and happy? I only jumped in to frighten you all--yes, and to test the courage of a gentleman who told us only this morning how much he adored physical courage.” Her accusing blue eyes turned on Otho Maury, and she said, with light, laughing scorn: “I thought as you pretended to be so very, very fond of me, that you would risk your life to save mine, but you proved yourself a coward after all!” He was livid with secret, sullen rage, but putting a bold face on the matter, he answered, carelessly: “Oh, I knew it was only a trick, and that you could swim as well as anybody; so I didn’t choose to humor your fancy to have me jump in the water and ruin my new fifty-dollar suit, like my friend Beresford here, who, it’s plain to be seen, is as mad as a March hare at the way he was fooled. Come, _mon ami_, shall I drive you into town for some dry clothes?” “If you please,” returned Beresford, who was indeed bitterly chagrined at being made the butt of such a joke, and angrily conscious of cutting such a poor figure among them all in his drenched clothing. He picked up his hat and coat and went away with Otho, who returned alone within the hour, saying that Beresford was in the sulks and wouldn’t come back. “And as for you, little mischief,” he said, banteringly, to Floy, who had been over to a house close by and borrowed a pretty suit, in which she reappeared as fresh as a rose--“as for you, the lordly Beresford will never forgive you for making him appear ridiculous by jumping into the river to rescue a girl who could swim as well as he could. He said he should have liked to shake you for a naughty, saucy little vixen.” “Who cares?” returned Floy, gayly, not the least abashed by Mr. Beresford’s resentment. When the picnic was over, Maybelle slyly reminded her of her promise about Suicide Place. “Oh, yes, I’m going to spend the night there, certainly,” she replied; and left the carriage at the gates of the grim old house, in spite of the remonstrances of many of the party, who were really uneasy at the thought of such a daring adventure.