"Well, a rose you must be; but of the freshest and sweetest. We don't have such roses in New York. Fact, we do not. I never see anything so fresh there. I wonder why?"
"People don't live out-of-doors picking berries," suggested Lois.
"What has berry-picking to do with it? My dear, it is a pity we shall have none of your old admirers at the Isles of Shoals; but I cannot promise you one. You see, it is off the track. The Caruthers are going to Saratoga; they stayed in town after the mother and son got back from Florida. The Bentons are gone to Europe. Mr. Dillwyn, by the way, was he one of your admirers, Lois?"
"Certainly not," said Lois, laughing. "But I have a pleasant remembrance of him, he gave us such a good lunch one day. I am very glad I am not going to see anybody I ever saw before. Where are the Isles of Shoals? and what are they, that you should go to see them?"
"I'm not going to see them—there's nothing to see, unless you like sea and rocks. I am going for the air, and because I must go somewhere, and I am tired of everywhere else. O, they're out in the Atlantic—sea all round them—queer, barren places. I am so glad I've got you, Lois! I don't know a soul that's to be there—can't guess what we shall find; but I've got you, and I can get along."
"Do people go there just for health?"
"O, a few, perhaps; but the thing is what I am after—novelty; they are hardly the fashion yet."
"That is the very oddest reason for doing or not doing things!" said Lois. "Because it's the fashion! As if that made it pleasant, or useful."
"It does!" said Mrs. Wishart. "Of course it does. Pleasant, yes, and useful too. My dear, you don't want to be out of the fashion?"
"Why not, if the fashion does not agree with me?"