She had made herself young, with parted hair, sailor blouse and large blue bow, white canvas shoes and short linen skirt.  Her mirror had asserted that she looked exactly as she had in college, that her throat was smooth, her collar-bone not very noticeable.  But she was under restraint.  When they swam she enjoyed the freshness of the water but she was irritated by Cy’s tricks, by Dave’s excessive good spirits.  She admired Erik’s dance; he could never betray bad taste, as Cy did, and Dave.  She waited for him to come to her.  He did not come.  By his joyousness he had apparently endeared himself to the Dyers.  Maud watched him and, after supper, cried to him, “Come sit down beside me, bad boy!” Carol winced at his willingness to be a bad boy and come and sit, at his enjoyment of a not very stimulating game in which Maud, Dave, and Cy snatched slices of cold tongue from one another’s plates.  Maud, it seemed, was slightly dizzy from the swim.  She remarked publicly, “Dr. Kennicott has helped me so much by putting me on a diet,” but it was to Erik alone that she gave the complete version of her peculiarity in being so sensitive, so easily hurt by the slightest cross word, that she simply had to have nice cheery friends.

Erik was nice and cheery.

Carol assured herself, “Whatever faults I may have, I certainly couldn’t ever be jealous.  I do like Maud; she’s always so pleasant.  But I wonder if she isn’t just a bit fond of fishing for men’s sympathy?  Playing with Erik, and her married——­Well——­But she looks at him in that languishing, swooning, mid-Victorian way.  Disgusting!”

Cy Bogart lay between the roots of a big birch, smoking his pipe and teasing Fern, assuring her that a week from now, when he was again a high-school boy and she his teacher, he’d wink at her in class.  Maud Dyer wanted Erik to “come down to the beach to see the darling little minnies.”  Carol was left to Dave, who tried to entertain her with humorous accounts of Ella Stowbody’s fondness for chocolate peppermints.  She watched Maud Dyer put her hand on Erik’s shoulder to steady herself.

“Disgusting!” she thought.

Cy Bogart covered Fern’s nervous hand with his red paw, and when she bounced with half-anger and shrieked, “Let go, I tell you!” he grinned and waved his pipe—­a gangling twenty-year-old satyr.

“Disgusting!”

When Maud and Erik returned and the grouping shifted, Erik muttered at Carol, “There’s a boat on shore.  Let’s skip off and have a row.”

“What will they think?” she worried.  She saw Maud Dyer peer at Erik with moist possessive eyes.  “Yes!  Let’s!” she said.

She cried to the party, with the canonical amount of sprightliness, “Good-by, everybody.  We’ll wireless you from China.”