"No," he disclaimed; "it's Grimes's. I only told him it would do you more good now than in August. It was due you anyhow."
"But I'm not sick," she protested. "I can't let you think I am. It's not right to deceive—"
"The question now before the house," Paul calmly interposed, "is, Where do you want to spend it? How about Shawnee Springs?"
"No."
"Thought not. You never mention the Springs as though you pined to get back. Ever try Ocean Grove, where the Methodists round up?"
"No."
"Then why don't you? There's more fun in the place than you'd think. They can't spoil the ocean, and Asbury Park is just a stone's throw away whenever the hymns get on your nerves. I mention Ocean Grove, because Mrs. St. Aubyn's sister has a boarding-house there—Marlborough Villa, she calls it—where she'll take you cheap, coming now before the rush. I'll run down Sunday and see how you're making out."
He had an answer for every objection, and in the end Jean let herself be persuaded, although to yield here seemed to imply a tacit assent to other things she was wofully unready to meet. The future stretched away, a jungle of complexity. Perhaps the sea, the real sea she had never beheld, for Coney Island did not count, would help her think it out.
Early the following morning the dentist saw her aboard the boat.
"You'll not mind if I come down?" he asked.