“It’s an awfully swell place,” said Lottie. “I spent one Summer there, and it was nothing but dress, dress, dress all the while! Either for motoring, tennis or bridge. Oh, I got so weary of it!”
“But you liked it—especially the dressing,” put in Belle.
“I should have, my dear, I don’t mind admitting that, if only I had had enough gowns,” went on Lottie, with a sigh. “But I didn’t have half enough. Papa was dreadfully poor that year. I believe he said there had been a ‘slump in the market,’ whatever that means.
“Anyhow I know I couldn’t begin to dress as those in my set did. So that’s how I remember Bayhead. I should like to go there again. It’s perfectly stunning.”
“That young fellow doesn’t look to be any too well dressed,” remarked Bess.
“Naturally he wouldn’t—going out in a boat,” said Cora. “Something seems to be the matter with his engine,” she added, for the stranger was bending over it.
Whatever it was did not seem to be serious, for the lone motorboatist straightened up again presently. He increased his speed, and came alongside the Chelton.
“We seem to be some distance from the point,” he said, with a smile. “Don’t you want a little race? You can call it off before we get near the danger spot.”
Cora was rather taken aback by the proposal. It was one thing to direct a stranger, even when he was a youth good to look at, and it was all right, too, to even pilot him on his way in strange waters; but it was quite another matter to have the aforesaid stranger invite himself to a race. It was like having a beggar apply at your front door, and when given a sandwich, calmly ask for soup.
“I don’t believe——” began Cora, but Bess slid up to her on the long seat and whispered: