cheeks burning and her eyes fiery with the endured insult, she went through the clubhouse and walked up the dusty hill-road toward her cottage. "Prom-Trotter!" She had lost him, lost the impetus his competition would give the others, and that could be borne; but the rage she felt—like the anguish that preceded it—was intolerable. Anyone passing her would have thought the hill too steep for her, though she could easily have taken it at a run. She had grown pale, and her breast heaved with her tumultuous breathing.
"He dared!" she panted. "He dared!"
Again tears were hot upon her eyelids; she clenched her small hands, and bit her tremulous lower lip to keep it still. Self-pity and hatred filled her. "I wish he had drowned! I wish those sharks"
In her mind's eye she saw Nelson struggling in the cold salt sea and the three grim fins approaching hungrily. "Eat him!" she imagined herself saying. "Eat him!" This time, she willingly accepted the responsibility; but she got no comfort out of it. She got no comfort out of anything; she was fiery with anger, yet helpless in a keen misery.
Then a strange thing happened to her. As she imagined Nelson in the water she seemed to see his
