“I know what it’s like, Aunt Fan; I’ve been there, you know,” said Ginger, turning back the covers of the bed. But nothing could stem the tide of her monologue. “It’s about seven miles from the house, to begin with--” “Oh, Aunt Fan--half a mile!” “--seven miles down a horrible trail above the ocean, and that paper doll went with me, and there was no bathhouse; there was no bathhouse but a flag; you put the flag up or down at the top of the trail and that shows whether there’s anybody bathing, and if you’ve got the signal right, perhaps nobody comes down.... There were simply two tubs right out in the landscape; it’s the most indecent thing I ever----” “But, Aunt Fan, it’s under the side of the hill; no one could possibly see you, and the flag was----” “What about the ocean?” her aunt wanted indignantly to know. “What about the Pacific Ocean? A steamer and a tug and two fishing boats went by; I felt like a mermaid without even the privacy of a tail. But I didn’t mind the ocean and the boats as much as I did that girl; I detested her the first minute I laid eyes on her, and now she’s my most intimate friend!” “Aunt Fan, you _must_ try to rest! Just try lying down and see if you don’t--” “I suppose I can lie on my face,” said Mrs. Featherstone, staggering weakly to the bed. “I shall faint away and die if I don’t get off my feet; they’ve ulcerated.” She eased herself with sharp groans, to a kneeling posture upon the bed. “I wish you could have heard the way the doctor spoke to me, coming down that ghastly trail, just above camp. The way he----” “Now, Aunt Fan,” said Ginger, loyally, “the doctor may have been a little impatient, and no doubt he was anxious about you, but----” “That’s right,” said her aunt, heavily. “Turn against your own! It was a hideously dangerous piece of trail, and I said I was going to get off and walk--I was being shaken right up between the horse’s ears--and I _wish_ you could have heard the tone in which he told me to stay on. I give you my sacred word of honor, no man has ever spoken to me in a tone like that--not even Jim Featherstone at his worst, and as for Henry--Henry would have _died_ before-- Well, I’ve made up my mind, all right. Dr. Gurney Mayfield could never make a woman happy; I suppose he might make her healthy, if he got her young enough, but not”--she stopped suddenly--“where are you going?” “I thought I’d go up to the Lodge for a few minutes, Aunt Fan, after I take this tray back,” said Ginger. “I think you’ll relax and rest if you are quiet.” “Oh, very well,” said Mrs. Featherstone, letting herself down, inch by inch, “go on and leave me! I came here for you, and suffered and endured all of this for you, but never mind that. Go on and dance! _Dance!_” She writhed at the thought. “But I suppose it would be easier”--the words came muffled from the pillow--“for me to dance a dance than to--_sit_ it out....”