was so much else to think about, and mamma
almost bursting a blood-vessel as it was.

Still, she wished now that it had all been started differently. In the
excitement, of course, she had not had time to think out every single
thing carefully and definitely. It occurred to her now, after some
meditation, that she might simply have said to mamma: "He had frightened
me so by getting into my boat, that when I upset and I knew I wasn't
going to drown, I didn't want to call him back"....

Darkness crept into the white-and-cherry bedroom. Till now, what with
nearly drowning and mamma and everything, she had really thought very
little about it from Dalhousie's point of view. Now it came over her,
rather dubiously, that what everybody seemed to be saying of him
downstairs did put him in quite a disagreeable position. But then, of
course, everybody was a little worked up and excited just now. In a day
or two they would forget about it, and the whole thing would blow over.
Besides, he deserved the severest punishment for the way he had treated
her; and as for anything he might say now (though as a gentleman he
would hardly say anything and try to blacken a lady's character), of
course nobody would listen to him for a minute.

And as far as that went, nobody would listen to her either. People never
did. She regretted the whole occurrence as much as any one, but you
could _never_ correct flying gossip; everybody knows that. People always
arrange the little details as they want them arranged, according to what
makes the most exciting story, and they never pay the smallest attention
when you come in with a just, mathematical face and say: "You haven't
got it quite right _there_. There's a little mistake _here_...."

Worry, clearly, was out of place. It never does any good, as all
philosophers agree; and besides, it brings wrinkles in or near the
forehead. Carlisle turned on her other side and snuggled with more
relaxation beneath the pale-blue quilt. Drowsiness stole over her,
seducing thought. Presently she slept, and dreamed of Mr. Canning.

IV

Mr. Hugo Canning, of the well-known Pursuing-Sex; how the
Great Young Man pursued Miss Heth to a Summer-house, and what
stopped his Thundering Feet.

Nor were the figments of sweet sleep too fanciful or far-flown. About
eight-thirty o'clock, when Mrs. and Miss Heth stepped from a descending
lift into the glaring publicity of the main floor, the first obje