"Oh, the war, no doubt."
"The war! Blame that for my hatred of this dreadful monotony, my lack of self-respect, my—my grubby, dingy, hopeless feeling!"
"I can see you have your mind made up." Mrs. Spencer caught Marian as she tumbled, laughing, against the seat.
"I beat Spencer back!"
"Come on and I'll beat up the hill!" Spencer wiggled to a standstill.
A wail went up. Letty and her duck were upside down, a jumble of legs and red wheels. Spencer clattered away to rescue her, Marian after him.
Mrs. Spencer began with a little chuckle a story of George's two youngest children. Catherine relaxed, content to leave her own problem. Her mother had said all she meant to say. The sun dropped lower and lower, until it seemed to catch on the sharp margin of the New Jersey shore and hang there, red, for long minutes. The tide had slackened and the water caught a metallic white luster. The park was almost deserted now. Finally Catherine called the children. They came; she smiled at their scarlet cheeks and clear eyes, their smudged hands and knees.
"Home now, and dinner."
"See the gold windows!" Spencer pointed to the massed gray buildings above the park.