we are at the seaside. it is the fashion in america for whole families to shut up their houses in hot weather and go off to some summer resort—the women of them—whether to be cool, or to be in the fashion i do not yet know. grandmother wanted to go one place, aunt gwendolin to another, and uncle theodore, who said he might run over for a few sundays, to yet another. at last a charming spot upon the atlantic coast was decided upon. uncle theodore settled the question emphatically, because dear grandmother needed the revivifying influence of the sea air.
aunt gwendolin fretted a little at first for fear it might be humdrum, and commonplace, and for fear none of "our set" would be there; but she recovered from her depression when she heard that mrs. delancy, mrs. deforest, mrs. austin, and others of the same clique had also chosen that particular part of the coast as their recuperating place.
mrs. delancy dropped in one day to tell her that the whole fashionable tide had turned toward that coast this summer, and she knew we should have a "simply grand season."
aunt gwendolin's spirits rose after that, and she immediately went about ordering a most elaborate summer wardrobe—morning gowns, evening gowns, walking suits, yachting suits, bathing suits.
uncle theodore went ahead of the rest of the party and engaged a suite of rooms in the most fashionable hotel on the beach, from the broad balconies of which the view of the sea is grand, and the air delicious.
grandmother and i spend much time together. as i am not "out" aunt gwendolin says that i cannot attend any of the functions to which she is going daily—and nightly. i do not know what i miss by being obliged to stay away from the parties and balls, but i know it is very delightful wandering on the beach with grandmother, watching the lights, shades, and colours on the water, the dipping and skimming of the water birds, the movements of the lobster fishers, the going out and coming in of the tide, and all the many, many objects of interest around the great sea world; never caring whether i am fashionable or not fashionable, whether anybody is noticing me or not noticing me.
the only objects that i do not like to look at on this sea beach are the human bathers. the sea-gulls taking their bath are graceful, but, oh! those grown-up women in skirts up to their knees, and bare arms, wandering over the beach like great ostriches! they mar the picture of beauty which the earth and sky and sea unite to make, and i would shut them up if i had the power—or add more length to their bathing suits.
perhaps the sea-gulls would not look graceful either if they had half their feathers off.
we were here a week when professor ballington came. we were all a little surprised to see him because he is not a "society man," as aunt gwendolin says. he does not appear to care much for "functions," and spends much time wandering on the beach. grandmother and i meet him frequently.
one time when i went out for a little run before breakfast i found him staring at the great green sea that kept restlessly licking the sand at his feet. he looked lonesome, and i tried to say something to cheer him up. then he asked permission to join me in my stroll, and we had a most delightful time, finding shells, and stones, the formations of various periods of time, professor ballington said. he seems to know everything. i do not wonder he cares so little for society, or the company of women in general. strange how much more the men, the cultured men, the society men, of america know than the women! i suppose it is because the women have to spend so much time talking about the change of sleeves.
there was a dance one night in the ballroom, which is around at the opposite side of the house from our apartments, and leaving grandmother absorbed in her book, i slipped around on the balcony and peeped through the slats of the closed shutters on the dancers within.
all was in a whirl, and there i saw, with my own two eyes, men with their arms around the waists of women, whirling those same women around the great room in time to music played by an orchestra. it made me dizzy to look at them.
"wouldn't that shock china!" i cried. "shall i have to submit to that when i come out? oh, why cannot i always stay in?"
i was so excited i did not know i was talking aloud, until the voice of professor ballington over my head said:
"you do not like the thought of coming out into society? you would like always to stay in domestic retirement?"
"yes, yes," i said; "what can save me from coming out?"
"marry some good man," he said, "and spend your energies making a quiet, happy home for him."
he was looking at me in a very peculiar way, and i felt frightened, i don't know why, and skipped along the balcony back to grandmother's sitting-room.
when i entered who should be there talking to grandmother but mrs. paton. she said she had felt lonesome without grandmother in the city, and had made up her mind to spend a week at the seaside.
"oh, grandmother!" i cried, as soon as i had greeted mrs. paton, "shall i have to come out? cannot i always stay in?"
grandmother clasped my hand in hers, in the old way she had of quieting me, and explained to mrs. paton that i did not incline to the ways of society people, and had a dread of entering the world which aunt gwendolin loved so well.
"give your life to some noble cause, my dear," said mrs. paton earnestly, turning her eyes upon me. "the world is in sore need of consecrated women. you could be a foreign missionary, or a home missionary. oh, don't waste your life on the frivolity called society!"
this is not professor ballington's advice. which is right? how glad i am that in this "land of the free," i am not compelled to follow any will but my own!
