glasses and cracked ice handy for those who wished to combat the heat by artificial and law-breaking means. Everything was cool, airy, comfortable. Carmelita felt herself in a new world, or rather again in the world she had abandoned when she married Dudley.
Lucy summoned her little French maid. "Mrs. Drake's room is ready?" And the two friends, chatting, followed the chic black-clad mademoiselle up the stairs. There was a refreshing breeze blowing from the Sound through an open window at one end of the wide corridor. The maid opened the door upon a commodious bedroom with bath and dressing room attached and then withdrew. But Lucy seemed disposed to gossip and took a neighboring chair as Carmelita, removing her hat, stood rescuing some breeze-blown strands of her dark hair.
"Awfully comfy quarters, Lucy," Carmelita offered.
"The best is none too good for you, old thing, after that oven of an apartment of yours. How do you stand it? Why don't you persuade Dudley to get you a place out here? Or, better still, stay on here with me as long as you like—all summer."
Carmelita did not like to admit the real reason for their remaining in the city though she was sure Lucy already knew it.
