"Well, Mr. Pertell did mention that we might get to the lake, but he didn't specify Sycamore."
"No, and now I'm going to try and do as you said, and forget all about it," and Ruth laid aside the paper and resumed putting up her hair for the night.
"I wonder what will happen to-morrow?" mused Alice, as she slipped into her robe, and thrust her feet into bath slippers.
"What do you mean?" Ruth's voice was rather muffled, for her hair was over her face now.
"I mean Mr. Towne fell in to-day, and—"
"Gracious, I hope you don't infer that it's someone else's turn to-morrow!"
"Hardly!" laughed Alice. "Hand me that cold cream, please, the salt air has chapped my face. Oh, say, did you notice how much color Laura had on to-day? If ever there was a 'hand-made' complexion hers was!"
"You shouldn't say such things!"
"Why not? When they're true! And such eyes as she made at poor Mr. Towne!"
Ruth slipped a rosy palm over her sister's lips, but Alice pulled it away, and laughingly added: