“I always forget that you're a Bostonian,” Miss Anderson apologized.
“Oh, thank you!” cried Mrs. Pasmer.
“I'm going to try to make her like other girls,” continued Miss Anderson.
“Do,” said Alice's mother, with the effect of wishing her joy of the undertaking.
“If there were a few young men about, a little over seventeen and a little under fifty, it would be easier,” said Miss Anderson thoughtfully. “But how are you going to make a girl like other girls when there are no young men?”
“That's very true,” said Mrs. Pasmer, with an interest which she of course did her best to make impersonal. “Do you think there will be more, later on?”
“They will have to Huey up if they are comin',” said Miss Anderson. “It's the middle of August now, and the hotel closes the second week in September.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Pasmer, vaguely looking at Alice. She had just appeared over the brow of the precipice, along whose face the arrivals and departures by the ferry-boat at Campobello obliquely ascend and descend.
She came walking swiftly toward the hotel, and, for her, so excitedly that Mrs. Pasmer involuntarily rose and went to meet her at the top of the broad hotel steps.
“What is it, Alice?”