“Now Jack–and you other boys also,” said Cora in firm tones, “really it isn’t fair. Belle is nervous about water, just as the rest of us are about some other particular bugbear, but she is also reasonable, and she has even promised to learn to swim.”
Cora brushed from the mahogany centre table a few morsels of withered lilac petals, for, in spite of the most careful dusting and setting to rights of the room, those blooms had a persistent way of dropping off.
“Belle swim!” cried Jack, rising to his feet, since his advances had been repulsed, “why she would have to be done up in a barrel of life preservers, and then she’d insist on being anchored to shore by a ship’s cable. Belle swim!”
“Indeed!” retorted his sister, “you’ll soon find that the more nervous a girl is, the more persistent she is to learn to swim. She realizes the necessity of not losing her head in the water.”
“If she lost her head she wouldn’t swim very far,” put in Ed with gentle sarcasm.
“Put him out!” ordered Walter. “But say, when are we going to get down to the horrible details, and make some definite plans? This sort of a tea party suits me all right–don’t mistake me,” he hastened to add, with a glance at Cora, “but if we are going, let’s–go!”
“That’s what I say,” came from Belle. “You won’t find me holding back,” and she crossed the room to look out of the parlor window across the Kimball lawn.
“My! That’s a stunning dress!” exclaimed Jack. “Fish-line color, isn’t it?”
“He’s trying to make amends. Don’t you believe him,” echoed Walter.
“Fish-line color!” mocked Cora. “Oh, Jack, you are hopeless! That’s the newest shade of pearl.”