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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Why do you suppose that Pa-pah is rowing somebody's maid around the bay, and singing that way to her?" "Perhaps it's one of our maids," said Drusilla; "but that would be rather odd, too, wouldn't it, Mr. Yates?" "A little," he admitted. And his heart sank. Flavilla had started down the sandy face of the bluff. "I'm going to see whose maid it is," she called back.
It was rather difficult for her to navigate on land, as her legs were incased in a fish's tail, but, seizing her comb and mirror, she managed to wriggle down to the water's edge. A few sun-warmed rocks jutted up some little distance from shore; with a final and vigorous wriggle Flavilla launched herself and struck out for the rocks, holding comb and mirror in either hand.
"Some time or other, when it is convenient," observed Flavilla, "you ought to kiss each other occasionally." "That doesn't come until I'm a bride, does it?" asked Drusilla. "I believe it's a matter of taste," said Flavilla, rising and naively stretching her long, pretty limbs. She stood a moment on the edge of the bluff, looking down. "How curious!" she said after a moment.
At that same moment, also, the sparkling waters of Oyster Bay were gently caressing the classic contours of Cooper's Bluff, and upon that monumental headland, seated under sketching umbrellas, Flavilla and Drusilla worked, in a puddle of water colors; and John Chillingham Yates, in becoming white flannels and lilac tie and hosiery, lay on the sod and looked at Drusilla.
He made such perfectly charming drawings of Flavilla and of me, and he drew pictures of the house and gardens, and of all the servants, and" she laughed "I once caught a glimpse in his sketch-book of the funniest caricature of you " The expression on her father's face was so misleading in its terrible calm that she laughed again, innocently.
And then you find out you're mistaken and you say you always want him for a friend, and you presently begin all over again with a perfectly new man " "Flavilla!" "Yes, Pa-pah." "Are you utterly demoralized!" "Demoralized? Why? Everybody behaved as I do before you and William invented your horrid machine.
He struggled on in the soft unaccustomed tyranny of the grass, the glare of sun, with his mind set on the close of day. He thought of cool shadows, of city streets wet at night, and a swift plunge into a river where it swept about the thrust of a wharf. He wondered what Doctor Markley would say about Flavilla; probably the child wasn't seriously sick.
He took one look at his daughter's burning face, heard the shrill labor of her breathing, and hurried downstairs with a set face. He was standing with Bella in the hall when June Bowman descended. "Flavilla ain't right," she told him. The latter promptly exhibited the wad of money. "Whatever you need," he said. "Put it away," Lemuel replied shortly. "I don't want any of that for Flavilla."
He approached the bed and standing over it and the meager body he cursed softly and wonderingly. The light was failing and it veiled the sharp lines of the dead child's countenance. For a moment his gaze strayed about the room and he felt a swift sorrow at its ugliness. He had wanted pretty things, pictures and a bright carpet and ribbons, for Flavilla.
"What is it?" asked Flavilla. "We we are engaged," whispered Drusilla, radiant. "Why, I knew that already!" said Flavilla. "Did you?" sighed her sister, turning to look at her tall, young lover. "I didn't.... Being in love is a much more complicated matter than you and I imagined, Flavilla. Is it not, Jack?"
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