"Oh, no, Aunt Marjie, there aren't," replied the girl regretfully, almost with a touch of naïve apology.
"Well, no matter. You can always swim round in a circle, of course. Only I do like having a definite goal."
And then she paused a moment, even suspending her toilet; for having a goal—hadn't that been, with almost amusing steadfastness, her aim all through life? Of course, it was quite true: there had been perhaps a hundred goals, all told; but each, in its own way, and at its own time, had seemed the golden, final one. And always so incorrigibly definite. She had gone vibrantly and humorously on from one pursuit to another, determination taking multiple form. And yet there appeared now to have been, all along, just one permanent and unswerving determination: not to marry O'Donnell.
Miss Whitcom sighed briefly and went on hooking herself up.
"Speaking of swimming," she continued. "I won a gold medal once. Yep. A very long time ago."
"A medal for swimming, Aunt Marjie?"
The aunt nodded. "I entered a five-mile endurance and time. Entered against thirteen men, and got there first!"
"Oh, how wonderful!" cried Hilda admiringly.
"Yes, it was wonderful," the other admitted; then frowned. "The only trouble was that I had my subsequent doubts of its being really fair."
Mrs. Needham, who had been standing in the doorway, a faint and musing smile on her lips, received the news of the swimming match with a hurried comment about having to go down and see how Eliza was getting on with breakfast. She was always, and especially with Alfred in mind, mildly shocked at the glib way in which her sister talked about men.