She fumed and interjected awhile further, but her daughter's thought had dreamed far away. From her childhood days she had carried a mind's-eye picture of the dominant fourth member of the family, the great Works, lord and giver of her higher life, which completely refuted these occasional assaults from socialists and failures. Their malicious bricks flew high over her girlish head. Presently Mrs. Heth rose, looking about for her novel, which was a glittering new one, frankly for entertainment only, and not half-cultural like "Pickwick." The two ladies moved together for the bedrooms. "You had better get a little nap, too," said Mrs. Heth, "to be fresh for the evening." "It's so early now. Perhaps I may stroll down for a few minutes first." "Well--it's so quiet I feel as if we had the place to ourselves. But come up in plenty of time for a nap before dinner.... You're here to get two days of good rest." "I'll shut the door between," said Carlisle. Before long, from the mother's side of the door so shut, certain sounds arose indicating that after the morning's fitful fever she slept well. Carlisle, on her own side, quickly donned a white boating-dress, a blue fillet for her hair, and white doeskin shoes with rubber soles. That done, she went out through the sitting-room, shot down in the lift, traversed the forsaken lobby, and emerged upon the long empty boating pavilion which ran from the hotel's side-entrance well out over the water. "The bell-boy gave you my message, Mr. Wedge?" said she, to the weather-tanned renter of boats. "How do you do? I'm late. How's the little Lady Jane?" "How you, Miss Heth? Glad to see you back again, Miss. Lady Jane's trim as ever. Yes'm. And there's a little sou' breeze coming up--puffy, but just suit her." "Bring her up a little more." "Yes'm--there now! Feels most like summer, don't it?" "But it doesn't _look_ like it!" smiled Miss Heth, and glanced about at the emptiness of things. "You'd ought to of seen her afore the hot spell," replied Mr. Wedge, with artificial hilarity.... Then the light air took the little sail and Carlisle slid away with the sunshine on her hair. For half a week the breath of summer had confounded October, mid-autumn plucking a leaf from July's best book. Now, with the half-holiday at hand and a Sabbath to follow, a few others beside the Heths and the Willie Kerr select party had deemed it worth while to go down to the sea where the breezes blow. Only a few, though: the desolate quiet of a summer place out of season yet clung and hung over all. In a solitary corner of the vast piazza four coatless men sat idly drinking the rickeys of summer. These, indeed, watched the embarkation of the girl with interest, and when she stood a moment to get a knot out of the sheet, revealing the figure of the Huntswoman (though she was by no means one of your great Amazons), one of them might have been heard to say: "Well, she can have _me_ any time.... And, by crackey, she can _sail_!"