"I knew a family in Norfolk once that had a private yacht," my mother reflected, just a little reverently. "And all those rich New York people keep yachts at Newport," she added in a kindred tone.
"That doesn't matter much," I said, a trifle acridly; "half of the people on them seem to be divorced, if you can believe the papers. But Charlie's quite set on this plan of his—of theirs—and I'm distressed to death about it. I don't want to just go right away so soon," and my voice shook in spite of myself as I nestled a little closer to my mother.
"What did you tell him, Helen?" she asked in a whisper.
"I said no—at first."
"And what after?"
"Nothing—that's the worst of it."
"Why? Why the worst of it?" pursued my mother.
"Because he thinks I will—and it frightens me."
"Helen," and mother's voice was quite reproachful, "I can't make you out at all, child. You've promised to marry him—and I can't understand you. Why, when your father wanted me to marry him I couldn't get too early a day—and we didn't have any yacht either."
"No, but you had father," I interposed.