She saw the bay, in imagination, smooth as a mirror, scarcely a ripple marring its surface. There were white sails dotted here and there fluttering in the soft breeze. Further off was the brown, beaten shore, in happy contrast with the indolent life upon the water, and over all the golden sun streaming down in unforbidden splendor.
The imaginative picture was too attractive to be resisted.
As she sat there, still hesitating, Jessica came in with her note open in her hand. She had flung a negligee over her night-dress, and while her hair was disheveled, the dancing light in her eyes made her almost beautiful.
"Of course you'll go!" she exclaimed, breathlessly. "Leith says that he has written to you. I have already awakened mamma, and she is getting dressed now. Won't it be delicious? I never saw a finer day in March, and it would be simply sinful not to take advantage of it."
"You think I ought to accept?" asked Carlita, wistfully.
"Think? Great heavens! you hadn't thought of declining?"
"Certainly."
"Then put such madness out of your head at once. Leith Pierrepont has one of the nicest yachts afloat. It isn't the largest, and it isn't the fleetest, but I'll venture to say that none of them can surpass her in luxuriousness. Write your note and accept for all of us."
Carlita hesitated again.
"Oh, I can't!" she exclaimed. "I can't write it. You do it, won't you, dear?"