She felt her chest trying to float up, but the blessed undertow, the dreaded reason why she was warned to never bathe in the ocean, sucked her feet down, putting the decision where it belonged, into the hands of God. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. “Anna,” she cried, “you must believe me. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. I shall be very sorry if I cannot have you for a friend. Of course, I don't believe she's what you would call flush.
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