her were always awry. He noticed with a sort of affection that her broad white hat was crazily tilted, that a strand of brown hair hung down over one ear, that the blue bow which should have been at her throat was twisted round to one side of her neck, and, with most amusement of all, that she had repaired one of her shoe-strings, tying the broken ends together in a clumsy knot. When he looked away, her figure tripped through his vision with an airy, dancing grace to which even carelessness contributed,—a flying wisp of hair, a ribbon half untied.
The door of one of the bath-houses was flung open, and Floyd Halket, in his bathing-suit, came running out. Stewart's satellites called to him and he joined them. With naked arms and legs tanned to the hue of polished oak, he seemed a being suddenly strong and elemental by contrast with so many carefully dressed figures. And for his own part he stood before the two persons, boy and girl, who to his hotly grasping and tenacious nature were endowed with charm beyond all others that he had ever known.
"Will you give me fifteen yards start and race me to the raft, Mr. Halket?" asked Lydia.
"Yes—just as you are," Floyd answered, with a laugh.
"Oh, you'd like a subject for another rescue," she exclaimed. "But wait till I get ready and I believe I can beat you. Come along; are n't you all going in?"
So she drew the others away, leaving Floyd and Stewart alone.
Stewart thought of his mother's suggestion; in the expansive, sympathetic mood induced by the kindly companionship of his friends it appealed more than ever to his sentiment; it would be appropriate and beautiful to found a great, lasting friendship on Floyd's heroism.
"What do you say, Floyd," he asked, "to our rooming together at Harvard?"
