Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1908-07-19

customs; and modern customs were-oh, so
different Why different, it was difficult to
say: so she sought for simile, and came upon
a poser in bathing suit 1t was eminently
proper for any dignified young lady to sprawl
on sea beach, bedecked in nine inch skirt
and becoming hose. yet the same young lady
would die of shame if forced thus to array
herself for the apish gaze of her guests in a
drawing room.
1t was ridiculous when analysed: but mod
ern customs were never intended for analysis.
They were like faith: one had to have it,
whether reasonable or not. and must swallow
it, no matter how it tasted Yes, it was just
custom: and custom was crazy anyway,-as
crazy as cat that insists on licking itself all
over and all day long instead of merely SWIM
ming across a creek.
60 Valda gave up reasoning again. submit
of having been debased. She had degraded
herself in the eyes of her entire crew. who
now would look on her with vastly less respect
than formerly. They would whisper when she
passed! They would speak her name lightly
among themse1ves,-a name that alas had
tumbled from pinnacle!
This was mistake. Her crew, like the bar
barous ladies of ancient Rome, enjoyed a scrap
from purely artistic point of view: and, had
Valda only known it, they toasted her name
and a tiger As for their standard of modern
lady, it was pronounced. though weird. AS
for respect to the mistress of the Spitfre. they
rendered it up in buckets, and were willing
and eager to ho1ystone her very footprints
with the tips of their reverential noses Why
not! 1t was human nature. crude, but human
nature after all. Had Beasley conquered, it
might have been different: but Beasley hadn t,
and the hearts of the crew were glad. Brown
was the victor! Miss Valda Girard-God
bless her for lady and saint twas victor
too! Therefore, the humble seamen set them
both on high, and loved them-trom dis
lance.
1t was custom,-just custom,-and custom
is kind to victors, whether they win an actual.
bona fide battle. or smash a few dllapidated
tubs in land locked bay.
Valda did not know all this, and her heart
was most unhappy Besides, she was OBJ
sessed with aching restlessness which she
could not for the life of her define. In days
gone by the yacht had seemed home to her,
every part Of it. She could loll for hours
the deck with book or fancywork, or chat
for half day with Captain Joe in the pilot
house, listening to the old salts var1egated
yarns of the vastly deep, but now the yacht
had become prison She longed to leave it
she didn't know exactly where, then hurry
back again. She wanted freedom, action !
The roll of the boat a mad monotony,
the pulse of its engines had become throb-
bing curse! She hated that yacht as she
hated nothing else on earth. with the two ex-
ceptions of herself and Morson-Brown.
A FTER dinner that evening Ormond sat
Z chatting pleasantly with Aunt Mary and
Polly, and the three of them seemed to
be having a disgustingly hilarious time.
Clearly, they did not care for the gloomy So
ciety of Miss Girard; that high minded
woman left them to their own devices. On
the plea of diversion, she tried to talk to
Tracy; but the private secretary was SO re-
lgiously following out the ethical suggestion
of keeping his blamed mouth shut, that the
experiment proved fiat failure. Ealda sighed
hopelessly, and went to bed.
This was an excellent idea. She would lie
there comfortably and think it all out in peace
and quietness Bed was the best place for
thought anyway. One was not distracted by
outside influences. And so she began to think
She began systematically lying fat on her
back and staring up into the darkness; but
presently the outside influences came creeping
in through the portholes, on purpose to annoy
her. In order to dispel them, she began to
think violently; and the process was very
human, if not entirely satisfactory. She
kicked her bed clothes into tangled disordered
knots, twisting them under and over and
around her body, as if she would wrench her
consolation from reverie; then the outside
influences jumped down from the portfolios
and sat on her head
To begin with, she was angry with Morson.
No-Brown! She was angry with Brown!
How dared he speak to her of love, this COM