Maurice said, briefly, that he "remembered"; "if she says Dale, I'm dished," he thought; aloud, he said that the river was growing impossible for boating; which caused them to drop the subject of the flopping girl, and talk about Mercer's increasing dinginess, at which Edith said, eagerly:
"You ought to see our mountains—no smoke there!"
Then, of course, came tales of camping, and, most animatedly, the story of Eleanor's wonderful rescue of Maurice.
"She pulled that great big Maurice all the way down to Doctor Bennett's! And we were all so proud of her!"
Eleanor protested: "It was nothing at all." Maurice, in his own mind, was saying, "I wish she'd left me there!"
When the ladies left the gentlemen to their cigars, Edith was bubbling over with anxiety to confide to Mrs. Morton the joke about the "lady's cheeks coming off," and that gave the married women the chance to express melancholy convictions as to the wickedness of the world, to which Edith listened with much interest.
"I think my painted lady lives in Medfield," she said.
"Why, how do you know?" Eleanor exclaimed, surprised.
"Why, don't you remember the time I saw her, with that blue-eyed baby? She was just going into a house on Maple Street."
It was at this moment that the gentlemen entered, so there was no further talk of painted ladies; and, besides, Maurice was alert to catch Eleanor's eye, and go home! "Edith is capable of saying anything!" he was thinking, desperately.