uick," said John to me; and with his coat flung off he was
in the river, whose current Hortense could scarce have reckoned with;
for they were both already astern as I ran out on the port boat boom.

Gazza was dancing and shrieking, "Man overboard!" which, indeed, was the
correct expression, only it did not apply to himself. Gazza was a very
sensible person. I had, as I dropped into the nearest boat, a brisk
sight of the sailing-master, springing like a jack-in-the-box on the
deserted deck, with a roar of "Where's that haymaker?" His reference was
to the anchor watch. The temptation to procure good matches to light
his pipe had ended (I learned later) by proving too much for this
responsible sailor-man, and he had unfortunately chosen for going
below just the unexpected moment when it had entered the daring head of
Hortense to perform this extravagance. Of course, before I had pulled
many strokes, the deck of the Hermana was alive with many manifestations
of life-saving and they had most likely been in time. But I am not
perfectly sure of this; the current was strong, and a surprising
distance seemed to broaden between me and the Hermana before another
boat came into sight around her stern. By then, or just after that (for
I cannot clearly remember the details of these few anxious minutes), I
had caught up with John, whose face, and total silence, as he gripped
the stern of the boat with one hand and held Hortense with the other,
plainly betrayed it was high time somebody came. A man can swim
(especially in salt water) with his shoes on, and his clothes add
nothing of embarrassment, if his arms are free; but a woman's clothes
do not help either his buoyancy or the freedom of his movement. John now
lifted Hortense's two hands, which took a good hold of the boat. From
between her lips the dishevelled cigarette, bitten through and limp,
fell into the water. The boat felt the weight of the two hands to it.

"Take care," I warned John.

Hortense opened her eyes and looked at me; she knew that I meant her.
"I'll not swamp you." This was her first remark. Her next was when,
after no incautious haste, I had hauled her in over the stern, John
working round to the bow for the sake of balance: "I was not dressed for
swimming." Very quietly did Hortense speak; very coolly, very evenly; no
fainting--and no flippancy; she was too game for either.

After this, whatever emotions she had felt, or was feeling, she showed
none of them,