he Moorings, that was settled; and
his man must be told to pack up his things directly. Mightn't word be
sent by messenger at once?

"Haven't brought a man, thanks awfully. Shed that habit long ago," said
my cousin. "I've got precious little luggage, too; picked this thing up
in a shop as I came along, and they charged me the deuce of a lot for
it. You're awfully good, you know, and all that, to offer to put me up,
but I only came prepared to spend a night or two."

Then Potter insisted, and blew all Mohunsleigh's objections away one by
one, as if they had been threads of cobweb; still, my cousin wouldn't
give a definite answer, perhaps not understanding American hospitality,
or perhaps having other ideas which he preferred. At all events, we
went to the bathing machines (which weren't bathing machines at all,
but dear little houses) without anything being decided. The only
invitation which Mohunsleigh had really accepted was Mrs. Pitchley's,
for her husband's bathing box.

She kept her word, and called him "Lord Mohunsleigh" in quite a high
voice, just as we passed the man who had refused to let him go onto the
beach before; but the man didn't seem impressed in the least. I think
he didn't even recognise Mohunsleigh as the same person, or if he did,
he pretended very cleverly not to.

I had forgotten the horror of the bathing dress in my surprise at
meeting Mohunsleigh, but it fell over me again like a cloud, as soon as
I was shut up in the bathing box with those wisps of green silk. I
wouldn't have the maid help me, and wrestled with the ordeal alone. It
took me some time; but when everything was on (there were only four
things, counting the cap and smart little sandals) I couldn't say to
myself that the effect wasn't attractive. It was; and I did approve of
myself in the quaint head-dress, which was more like a fetching silk
toque with an Alsatian bow in front, than a mere cap.

But the awful moment came when I was ready, with my hand on the door.
I'm sure Joan of Arc must have felt like that when she had let her hair
down, and put on that graceful white dress of hers one sees in the
pictures, to be burned. She may have been dimly aware that she was
looking quite her best, as I was; but even that couldn't have buoyed
her up much at the moment, and it didn't me.

As I stood hesitating, somebody knocked. I peeped out, and it was
Sally--quiet, unassuming little Sally, with her middle-aged
airs--looking like one o