ed down from mother to daughter, that it
is uncivil and even unkind not to keep saying something, they went on
talking vapidities, where the same number of men, equally vacuous,
would have remained silent; and some of them complained that the nervous
strain of conversation took away all the good their bath had done them.
Miss Gleason, who did not bathe, was also not a talker. She kept a
bright-eyed reticence, but was apt to break out in rather enigmatical
flashes, which resolved the matter in hand into an abstraction, and left
the others with the feeling that she was a person of advanced ideas, but
that, while rejecting historical Christianity, she believed in a God of
Love. This Deity was said, upon closer analysis, to have proved to be
a God of Sentiment, and Miss Gleason was herself a hero-worshiper, or,
more strictly speaking, a heroine-worshiper. At present Dr. Breen was
her cult, and she was apt to lie in wait for her idol, to beam upon
it with her suggestive eyes, and evidently to expect it to say or do
something remarkable, but not to suffer anything like disillusion or
disappointment in any event. She would sometimes offer it suddenly a
muddled depth of sympathy in such phrases as, "Too bad!" or, "I don't
see how you keep-up?" and darkly insinuate that she appreciated all
that Grace was doing. She seemed to rejoice in keeping herself at a
respectful distance, to which she breathlessly retired, as she did now,
after waylaying her at the top of the stairs, and confidentially darting
at her the words, "I'm so glad you don't like scandal!"
III.
After dinner the ladies tried to get a nap, but such of them as
re-appeared on the piazza later agreed that it was perfectly useless.
They tested every corner for a breeze, but the wind had fallen dead, and
the vast sweep of sea seemed to smoulder under the sun. "This is what
Mr. Barlow calls having it cooler," said Mrs. Alger.
"There are some clouds that look like thunderheads in the west," said
Mrs. Frost, returning from an excursion to the part of the piazza
commanding that quarter.
"Oh, it won't rain to-day," Mrs. Alger decided.
"I thought there was always a breeze at Jocelyn's," Mrs. Scott observed,
in the critical spirit of a recent arrival.
"There always is," the other explained, "except the first week you're
here."
A little breath, scarcely more than a sentiment of breeze, made itself
felt. "I do believe the wind has changed," said Mrs. Frost. "I
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