“So did I; but I don’t believe it can be done, Dan. I believe this is the worst night for sheer hotness we’ve had in two or three years. I haven’t felt it so much since the day I landed in New York from Cherbourg, summer before last. I’ll never forget that day!”
“In New York?” he asked, astonished.
“I should say so! I suppose I felt it more because I was just from abroad, but I think people from our part of the country suffer fearfully from the heat in New York, anyhow.”
“I believe they do,” he said thoughtfully. “And New York people suffer from the heat when they come out here. That must be it.”
“Do you think so?” She appeared to be surprised. “I don’t see how New York people could mind the heat anywhere else very much after what they get at home.”
“Oh, but they do, Martha! They suffer terribly from heat if they come out here, for instance. You see they don’t spend the summers in New York. They either go abroad in summer or else to the country.”
“Does she?” Martha asked quickly; but corrected herself. “Do they?”
“Yes,” he said, seeming to be unaware of the correction. “That’s why it upsets her so. You see——”
“Yes?”
“Well——” he said, hesitating. “It—it does kind of upset her. It——” He paused, then added lamely, “It’s just the heat, though. That’s all seems to be really the matter; she can’t stand the weather.”