One of them rubbed the cushion with the forefinger of her glove, and showed the result to the other, and they both sighed, and sat down, with the air of early Christian martyrs trying to make themselves comfortable up against the stake.

You are liable to occasionally splash a little when sculling, and it appeared that a drop of water ruined those costumes.

The mark never came out, and a stain was left on the dress for ever.
I was stroke.

I did my best.

I feathered some two feet high, and I paused at the end of each stroke to let the blades drip before returning them, and I picked out a smooth bit of water to drop them into again each time.