“Oh, Aunt Di, not you, of course! nor you either, Miss Sharp, nor the Professor, nor Cousin Martha,” said Iris, heedlessly. “You can all sit here comfortably in the shade while the rest of us run up; we shall not stay long.” Upon this instantly we all arose and began to climb up those stairs. Sit there comfortably in the shade, indeed! Not one of us! The view from the summit seemed wonderfully extensive--inland over the level pine-barrens to the west; the level blue sea to the east; north, the silver sands of the Florida main-land; and south, the stretch of Anastasia Island, its backbone distinctly visible in the slope of the low green foliage. “How soft and blue the ocean looks!” said Iris. “I should like to sail away to the far East and never come back.” “If I only had my yacht here now, Miss Iris!” said Mokes, gallantly. “But we should want to come back some time, you know. Egypt and the Nile--well, they are dirty places; although I--er--I always carry every thing with me, it is almost impossible to live properly there.” We all knew what Mokes meant; he meant his portable bath. He aped English fashions, and was always bringing into conversation that blessed article of furniture, which accompanied him every where in charge of his valet. So often indeed did he allude to it that we all felt, like the happy-thought man, inclined to chant out in chorus, to the tune of the _Mistletoe Bough_, “Oh, his portable ba-ath! Oh, his por-ta-ble ba-ath!” “You have, I am told, Mr. Mokes, the finest yacht in this country,” said John Hoffman. Well, it wasn’t a bad one, Mokes allowed. “I don’t know which I would rather own,” pursued John, “your yacht or your horses. Why, Sir, your horses are the pride of New York.” I glanced at John; he was as grave as a judge. Mokes glowed with satisfaction. Iris listened with downcast eyes, and Aunt Diana, who had at last reached the top stair, gathered her remaining strength to smile upon the scene. Mokes came out of his shell entirely, and graciously offered his arm to Aunt Diana for the long descent. But Aunt Di could--“excuse me, Mr. Mokes”--really hold on “better by the railing;” but “perhaps Iris--” Yes, Iris could, and did. John looked after the three as they wound down the long spiral with a smile of quiet amusement. “All alike,” he said to me, with the “old-comrade” freedom that had grown up between us. “La richesse est toujours des femmes le grand amour, Miss Martha.” “Don’t quote your pagan French at me,” I answered, retreating outside, where on the little platform I had left Sara gazing out to sea. She was looking down now, leaning over the railing as if measuring the dizzy height. “If I should throw myself over,” she said, as I came up, “my body would go down; but where would my soul go, I wonder?” “Don’t be morbid, Sara.”