"I say! Let's bathe. It would be too gorgeous in there!"
Miss Walsh, behind her, looked as if she could not believe her ears.
"In October, dear Mrs. Cartwright?"
Dear Mrs. Cartwright laughed as she threw out her arm towards the waters, soaring to crash, soaring again to crash.... "That," she cried, "was going on before the months had names!"
"Oh, but I never knew any one dreamed of bathing after August," murmured Miss Walsh, still clutching her hat, "and, besides!" (as if that settled it), "you haven't brought your things with you."
"That's just what I meant," declared Mrs. Cartwright, taking a deep breath. "I'm going in."
"Oh, please don't!" protested Olwen. "I can swim quite well, but any one can see that's dangerous. Supposing you were caught in and swept away. Oh, I wouldn't."
"I shouldn't dream of letting you, child," cried Mrs. Cartwright gaily. "I'm going in," and she stooped to unlace the brown thongs of her sandalettes.
"Oh! I'll go on and gather shells, then," said Agatha Walsh (hurriedly turning her back as if she dreaded to let her eyes fall upon some repellent sight, reflected Mrs. Cartwright, with amusement).
The elder woman was of the type that, under such circumstances, makes no more ado about getting out of her clothes than she would about taking off her hat. She was of that type—and of that build.