We pass through the gate to all the glories of the sea. A sea bath—sea mosses under our feet, shells piled in heaps, fern trees waving.
Mae dashes out and hides from view. I discover her, but cannot hold her with my wet hands.
We hear a song. In the door of a crystal grotto stands a mermaid. “Come into my bower, and I will give you amber. I am a sister of seven who combs her long hair in the deep.”
Ascending steps of dainty harpshell, we tread an anemone carpet where is a crowd of people.
Games are in order on rock ruby stands, in which I become engrossed, as a “sister” plays a cameo-mandolin; another singing a rollicking song of the sea, ending in sobs, for those who come down in ships.
There is sea-dancing—liquid symphony. I see Charley in his native element, precluding tears or weeping for joy.
We round out on a tower top, and board a nautilus with unfurled sail. We ride over a gold fish “gilt-edged” school, and a bank of red sea berries that holly-like call up to us “Merry Christmas.”
Furling our sail, we drop down into the entry, which we empty, and strange, our garments are dry.
We emerge among our friends. A sweep of robes is so close passing me, I look up at the colossal face. It is Robet, but a strained, nervous look forbids me to follow.
Toppling upon the hem of her robe, I am carried perforce in her company. She stops in a conservatory, where one grand tree is growing, and bends down a branch. I look to see it and all the tree transcribed with names—a veritable family tree. More distraught, she speaks in a loud-pitched voice, down into the face of Charley, who has followed me (seeing him not), “Have you a pedigree?” He colors up in wrath, then takes a tablet from my chatelaine, and places it in her hand, which awakes her. Smiling, she says, “I did not mean you.” Charley reacting from anger to hilarity, seizes a twig, crying. “I will write a pedigree,” as a red pollen drops, touching up my cheeks. “They need it,” he says, and goes for Mae, who now comes, and soon she glows like an Indian.