“That's nonsense!” he replied emphatically. “Dress is only incidental.” “When did you first notice me?” she demanded. “In bathing. That bathing suit cost more than any two of my dresses. It is absolutely right.” August was confused by the keenness of her perception. It wasn't proper for a woman to understand such facts. He was at a loss for a reply. “Seven men spoke to me in it on one afternoon. It is no good for you to try to reassure me with platitudes; I know better. I ought to, at least.” August Turnbull was startled by the fire of resentment smoldering under her still pale exterior. Why, she was like a charged battery. If he touched her, he thought, sparks would fly. She was utterly different from Emmy, as different as a live flame from ashes. It was evident that having at last spoken she intended to unburden herself of long-accumulated passionate words. “All my life I've had to listen to and smile sweetly at ridiculous hypocrisies. I have had to teach them and live them too. But now I'm so sick of them I can't keep it up a month longer. I could kill some one, easily. In a world where salvation for a woman is in a pair of slippers I have to be damned. If I could have kept my hair smartly done up and worn sheer batiste do you suppose for a minute I'd be a companion to Mrs. Turnbull? I could be going out to the cafes in a landaulet.” “And looking a lot better than most that do,” he commented without premeditation. She glanced at him again, and he saw that her eyes were gray, habitually half closed and inviting. “I've had frightfully bad luck,” she went on; “once or twice when it seemed that I was to have a chance, when it appeared brighter--everything went to pieces.” “Perhaps you want too much,” he suggested. “Perhaps,” she agreed wearily; “ease and pretty clothes and--a man.” She added the latter with a more musical inflection than he had yet heard. “Of course,” he proceeded importantly, “there are not a great many men. At least I haven't found them. As you say, most people are incapable of any power or decision. I always maintain it's something in the country. Now in----” He stopped, re-began: “In Europe they are different. There a man is better understood, and women as well.” “I have never been out of America,” Miss Beggs admitted. “But you might well have been,” he assured her; “you are more Continental than any one else I can think of.” He moved toward the middle of the bench and she said quickly: “You must not misunderstand. I am not cheap nor silly. It might have been better for me.” She addressed the fading light on the sea. “Silly women, too, do remarkably well. But I am not young enough to change now.” She rose, gracefully drawn against space; her firm chin was elevated and her hands clenched. “I won't grow old this way and shrivel like an apple,” she half cried.