Well, neither would Dorothea's. She assumed it instantly in the
darkness by way of immediate practice, and fell asleep with the
result plastered upon her face.
In the morning the Monster, wearied perhaps by his session of the
night before, seemed to lie dormant. Dorothea woke jubilant as
the morn and, having roused her friend by the gentle method of
half stifling her with a pillow, rushed her through her dressing
and led her forth.
The ocean welcomed them with rapture; it caught the sun for them
and threw it back in millions and millions of living, rainbowed
diamonds. The world was all gold and blue and tremulous with
clean salt winds. It seemed ridiculous that one could be unhappy
on such a day. Dorothea danced pagan-like at the wave edge while
Jennie watched demurely from the bulkhead.
However, it appeared that even on a day like this one could carry
black envy at one's heart. It was during the bathing hour that
the Monster again asserted himself--this time for no indefinite
stay. As a rule, the bathing hour was one in which Dorothea
reveled. Arrayed in her faded bathing suit, guiltless of skirt or
sleeves, her prowess as an amphibious creature had been highly
commended by that one for whose praise she would gladly have
precipitated herself from the highest pier.
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