"I hope you're all rested up," she continued, and put one of the new records on the machine. The air was from a modern opera, true; but it was slow-going and had even been fitted out with "sacred" words. Everybody knew it, and presently everybody was humming it. "It ought not to be hummed," she declared; "it ought to be sung. You can sing it, Mr. Cope?" "Oh yes, indeed," replied Cope, readily enough. "I have the breath left, I think,--or I can very soon find it." "Take a few minutes. I'll fill in with something else." They listened to an inconclusive thing by a wobbling soprano, and then Mrs. Phillips put the other record back. The accompaniment to the air was rather rich and dense, and the general tone-quality was somewhat blatant. But Cope stood up to it all, and had the inspiration to treat the new combination as a sort of half-joke. But he was relieved from the bother of accompanying himself; his resonance overlaid in some measure the cheap quality of the record's tone; he contrived to master a degree of momentum to let himself go; and the general result was good,--much better than his attempt at that tea. Hortense and Carolyn looked at him with a new respect; and Amy, who had been willing to admire, now admired openly. Cope ended, gave a slight grimace, and sauntered away from the table and the instrument. He knew that he had done rather well. "Bravo!" loudly cried one of the ladies, who felt that she was under suspicion of having taken a step or two in the dance. And, "Oh, my dear," said Mrs. Phillips to her, sotto voce, "isn't he utterly charming!" Cope wiped his brow. The walk had made him warm, and the singing had made him warmer. One or two of the women were using chance pamphlets as fans (despite Mrs. Phillips' ill-concealed doubts), and everybody showed a willingness to keep in the draught from the open windows. "Is it close here?" asked the hostess anxiously. "The day is almost like summer. If the water is anywhere nearly as warm as the air is.... Let me see; it's a quarter to four. I have a closetful of bathing suits, all sizes and shapes and several colors, if anybody cares to go in." "Don't!" cried Cope explosively. She looked at him with interest. "Have you been trying it?" "I have. On the way along the shore. I assure you, however warm the air may be, the bathing season is over." "Well, I rather thought something had been happening to you. Mr. Randolph, is it as bad as he says?" "I'll take his word," replied Randolph. "And I think all of us had better do the same." "We might go down to the beach, anyway," she said. "Hortense wants to make her color-notes, and the color will be good from now on." Several of the party threaded their way down over the sliding sandy path which led through the pines and junipers. Cope was willing to go with the others--on the present understanding. He objected to promiscuous bathing even more strongly than he objected to promiscuous dancing.