dreamed any justification of Dalhousie's blackguardism.
Already, it appeared, the hotel rang with objurgations of it, and him.
Still, Mrs. Heth had struck the note, and struck hard.

Carlisle was bidden to sleep, after her trying experiences, to regain
her poise and color for the evening....

Alone again in the twilight bedroom, the girl snuggled beneath a pretty
pale-blue quilt, and absently scrutinized her pink and very shiny little
finger nails. After the excitement and strain of the last hour and a
half, she felt that she was now at peace. Nothing at all was going to
happen. Nobody could say anything the least bit horrid about her, the
least bit injurious to her position. She stood exactly where she had
stood when she went out for the sail. She was not even going to have
chills ...

She decided to dismiss it all from her mind and go to sleep, but her
mind for a time refused to come into this agreement. Though that was
exactly what she had meant not to do, the girl presently found herself
thinking back over the whole occurrence, from the moment when she first
saw Dalhousie in the water. In time vague doubts gathered and clouded
her perfect brow. She became a little oppressed by the recollection of
certain variations between what she had said and really intended to say
to her mother upstairs, and what her mother appeared to have said to
Rumor downstairs. For instance, she had never said that Dalhousie
_literally_ upset her boat, or even that he was exactly _in_ the boat
when it upset; and _never_ said that she had screamed again and again
for his help when she found herself in the water. No, she had
particularly avoided saying those things, for justly angry and excited
though she was, she hadn't considered it right to say anything that
wasn't strictly true. Mamma just jumped right on ahead, though, paying
no attention to what you said.

The whole thing had happened very unfortunately, she saw that clearly
now. Of course, she couldn't tell mamma that she and Jack Dalhousie had
quarrelled terribly in the boat and he had looked as if he meant to
strike her, for then mamma would have asked, How could you have had such
a terrible quarrel with a man that somebody barely introduced to you
once, a long time ago? And if she had said pointblank, No, I don't think
I screamed, mamma would have asked, Why under heaven didn't you
scream?--and all this would have meant stopping for a long explanation
right there, just when there