Were all my dreams to go? Would they leave nothing to my shattered ilusions? Alas, no.
“Jolly him a little, to,” said—can I write it?—Mrs. Beecher. “Tell him he’s the greatest thing in the World. That will help some. He’s vain, you know, awfully vain. I expect he’s written a lot of piffle.”
Had they listened they would have heard a low, dry sob, wrung from my tortured heart. But Mrs. Beecher had started a vibrater, and my anguished cry was lost.
“Well,” said Mrs. Patten, “Will has gone down to let him out. I expect he’ll attack him. He’s got a vile Temper. I’ll sit with you till he comes back, if you don’t mind. I’m feeling nervous.”
It was indeed painful to recall the next half hour. I must tell the truth however. They discussed us, especialy mother, who had not called. They said that we thought we were the whole summer Colony, although every one was afraid of mother’s tongue, and nobody would marry Leila, except Carter Brooks, and he was poor and no prospects. And that I was an incorrigable, and carried on somthing gastly, and was going to be put in a convent. I became justly furious and was about to step out and tell them a few plain Facts, when sombody hammered at the door and then came in. It was Mr. Patten.
“He’s gone!” he said.
“Well, he won’t go far, in bathing trunks,” said Mrs. Beecher.
“That’s just it. His bathing trunks are there.”
“Well, he won’t go far without them!”
“He’s gone so far I can’t locate him.”