blushingly
Miss Jones considered that doubtless before the summer was over she would
be engaged to him. And quite likely she would follow up the engagement
with a wedding. It seemed time for her to be following up some of her
engagements.

She did not believe that she would at all mind marrying Harry Prescott.
All his people liked all hers, which would facilitate things at the
wedding; she would not be rudely plunged into a new set of friends, which
would be trying at her time of life. Everything about him was quite all
right: he played a good game of golf, not a maddening one of bridge,
danced and rode in a sort of joy of living fashion. And she liked the way
he showed his teeth when he laughed. She always thought when he laughed
most unreservedly that he was going to show more of them; but he never
did; it interested her.

And it interested her the way people said: "Prescott? Oh yes--he was in
Cuba, wasn't he?" and then smiled a little, perhaps shrugged a trifle,
and added:

"Great fellow--Prescott. Never made a mess of things, anyhow."

To have vague association with the mysterious things of life, and yet not
to have "made a mess of things"--what more could one ask?

Of course, pounding irritably with her club, the only reason for not
marrying him was that there were too many reasons for doing so. She could
not think of a single person who would furnish the stimulus of an
objection. Stupid to have every one so pleased! But there must always be
something wrong, so let that be appeased in having everything just right.
And then there was Cuba for one's adventurous sense.

She looked about her with satisfaction. It frequently happened that the
place where one was inspired keen sense of the attractions of some other
place. But this time there was no place she would rather be than just
where she found herself. For she was a little tired, after a long round
of visits at gay places, and this quiet, beautiful island out in the
Mississippi--large, apart, serene--seemed a great lap into which to sink.
She liked the quarters: big old-fashioned houses in front of which the
long stretch of green sloped down to the river. There was something
peculiarly restful in the spaciousness and stability, a place which the
disagreeable or distressing things of life could not invade. Most of the
women were away, which was the real godsend, for the dreariness and
desolation of pleasure would be eliminated. A quiet post was charming
until