Pamela looked about for her parasol and gloves; she knew that John Charter had gone to Newport to visit an aunt.
"I think it's perfectly abominable myself,—I mean the weather," she said desperately; "we're going to-morrow."
Astry moved easily over to the mantelpiece and began to arrange one of his Chinese gods. "There'll be an exodus now," he remarked, "since Congress adjourned yesterday. Massachusetts Avenue is boarded up already; only the unfashionable will dare to stay in the face of those shutters. I expect Eva to go to Lenox."
"I'm not going anywhere," she replied quickly; "this is my summer off. Don't go, Pamela; stay and we'll go over to see Rachel."
But Pamela felt guilty; if she had only skimmed the surface, she had certainly skimmed it very thoroughly. "I can't stay; think of the things I've got to do before half-past seven to-morrow morning."
"Nothing half as important as staying to see your friends," said Astry.
But Pamela would not be diverted from her flight, though she stood on the terrace a moment while she raised her pink parasol and whirled it slowly around before balancing it over her head.
"If I had a view like this I'd stay too!" she declared.
Eva, standing in the door, looked out over the magnificent prospect with languid eyes.
"Oh, you'd get tired of it! I sometimes want to paint the dome sky-blue—as the monkey did his tail."