oing likewise, she was a smooth and shiny Sally,
like a deep blue seal above water, but with modifications towards
floating fins below.

"Now tell me about the row last night," said she, after reproaches met
by Laetitia with, "It's no use, dear. I wasn't born a herring like you."

Sally must have heard there had been some family dissension at Ladbroke
Grove Road as she came into the bath with Laetitia, whom she met at the
towel-yielding _guichet_. However, the latter wasn't disposed to
discuss family matters in an open swimming-bath in the hearing of the
custodian, to say nothing of possible concealed dressers in horse-boxes
alongside.

"My dear child, _is_ this the place to talk about things in? _Do_ be
a little discreet sometimes," is her reply to Sally's request.

"There's nobody here but us. Cut away, Tishy!" But Miss Wilson will
_not_ talk about the row, whatever it was, with the chance of
goodness-knows-who coming in any minute. For one thing, she wants to
enjoy the telling, and not to be interrupted. So it is deferred to
a more fitting season and place.

Goodness-knows-who (presumably) came in in the shape of Henriette
Prince, who was, after Sally, the next best swimmer in the Ladies'
Club. After a short race or two, won by Sally in spite of heavy odds
against her, the two girls turned their attention to the art of
rescuing drowning persons. A very amusing game was played, each
alternately committing suicide off the edge of the bath while the other
took a header to her rescue from the elevation which we just now saw
Sally on ready to plunge. The rules were clear. The suicide was to do
her best to drag the rescuer under water and to avoid being dragged
into the shallow end of the bath.

"I know you'll both get drowned if you play those tricks," says Laetitia
nervously.

"No--we _shan't_," vociferates Sally from the brink. "Now, are you
ready, Miss Prince? Very well. Tishy, count ten!"

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't! One--two--three...." And Laetitia, all whose
dignity and force of character go when she is bathing, does as she is
bidden, and, at the "ten," the suicide, with a cry of despair, hurls
herself madly into the water, and the rescuer flies to her succour.
What she has to do is to grasp the struggling quarry by the elbows
from behind and keep out of the reach of her hands. But the tussle that
ensues in the water is a short one, for the rescuer is no match for the
supposed involuntary resistance of the