and the hot lawn and the weedy refuse of the dog days along shore. Slowly the white wings of the boat moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped ocean and the abounding blessed isles.

“There's sport for you,” said Tom, nodding. “I'd like to be out there with him for about an hour.”

We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened, too, against the heat, and drank down nervous gayety with the cold ale.

“What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon,” cried Daisy, “and the day after that, and the next thirty years?”

“Don't be morbid,” Jordan said. “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”