“Never mind. Be a sportsman. Have another dash at her.”

“She looked clean through me.”

“Well, don’t mind that. Stick at it. Now, having got her down here, what you want,” I said, “is to place her under some obligation to you. What you want is to get her timidly thanking you. What you want⁠—”

“What’s she going to thank me timidly for?”

I thought for a while. Undoubtedly he had put his finger on the hub of the problem. For some moments I was at a loss, not to say nonplussed. Then I saw the way.

“What you want,” I said, “is to look out for a chance and save her from drowning.”

“I can’t swim.”

That was Freddie Bullivant all over. A dear old chap in a thousand ways, but no help to a fellow, if you know what I mean.