“I wish you’d see the white linen my Bella’s got.  It’s got sixteen yards of Cluny lace in the waist alone—­and such Cluny, too!  I paid a dollar and a half a yard wholesale.”

“Just look at this waist I’m wearin’, Mrs. Blondheim.  You wouldn’t think I paid three and a half for the lace, would you?”

“Oh yes; I can always tell good stuff when I see it, and I always say it pays best in the end,” said Mrs. Blondheim, feeling the heavy lace edge of Mrs. Epstein’s sleeve between discriminating thumb and forefinger.

Suddenly Mrs. Epstein’s eyes widened; she rose to her feet, drawing a corner of the table-cloth awry.  “If it ain’t my Louie!”

Mr. Louis Epstein, a faithful replica of his mother, with close black hair that curled on his head like the nap of a Persian lamb, imprinted a large, moist kiss upon the maternal lips.

“Hello, maw!  Didn’t you expect me?”

“Not till the ten-o’clock train, Louie.  How’s papa?”

“He’th fine.  I left him billing thom goods to Thpokane.”

“How’s business, Louie?”

“Not tho bad, but pa can’t get away yet for a week.  The fall goods ain’t all out yet.”

“Ain’t it awful, the way that man is all for business, Mrs. Blondheim?  This is my son Louie.”

“Well, well, Mr. Epstein.  I’ve heard a lot about you.  I want you to meet my daughter Bella.  You ought to make friends.”

“Yeth’m,” said Mr. Epstein.

* * * * *

Out on the clean-washed beach the sun glinted on the water and sent points of light dancing on the wavelets like bits of glass.  Children in blue rompers burrowed and jangled their painted spades and pails; nursemaids planted umbrellas in the sand and watched their charges romp; parasols flashed past like gay-colored meteors.

In the white-capped surf bathers bobbed and shouted, and all along the shore-line the tide ran gently up the beach and down again, leaving a smooth, damp stretch of sand which soughed and sucked beneath the steps of the bathers.

Far out, where the waters were highest and the whitecaps maddest, Mr. Arnheim held Miss Sternberger about her slim waist and raised her high over each rushing breaker.  They caught the swells and lay back against the heavy tow, letting the wavelets lap up to their chins.

Mr. Arnheim, with little rivulets running down his cheeks, shook the water out of his grayish hair and looked at her with salt-bitten, red-rimmed eyes.

“Gee!” he wheezed.  “You’re a spunky little devil!  Excuse me from the beach-walkers; I like ’em when they’re game like you.”

She danced about like an Amphitrite.  “Who would be afraid of the water with a dandy swimmer like you?”

“This ain’t nothin’,” said Mr. Arnheim.  “You ought to see me in still water.  At Arverne last summer I was the talk of the place.”

They emerged from the water, dripping and heavy-footed.  She wrung out her brief little skirts and stamped her feet on the sand.  Mr. Arnheim hopped on one foot and then on the other, holding his head aslant.  Then they stretched out on the white, sunbaked beach.  Miss Sternberger loosened her hair and it showered about her.