Лето

           “Hullo,CharityRoyall!”shecalledout;andthen,lookingbackoverhershoulder:“Didn’tItellyouitwasafamilyparty?Here’sgrandpa’slittledaughtercometotakehimhome!”

           Asniggerranthroughthegroup;andthen,toweringabovethem,andsteadyinghimselfbythehand-railinadesperateeffortaterectness,Mr.Royallsteppedstifflyashore.Liketheyoungmenoftheparty,heworeasecretsocietyembleminthebuttonholeofhisblackfrock-coat.HisheadwascoveredbyanewPanamahat,andhisnarrowblacktie,halfundone,dangleddownonhisrumpledshirt-front.Hisface,alividbrown,withredblotchesofangerandlipssunkeninlikeanoldman’s,wasalamentableruininthesearchingglare.

           HewasjustbehindJuliaHawes,andhadonehandonherarm;butasheleftthegang-plankhefreedhimself,andmovedasteportwoawayfromhiscompanions.HehadseenCharityatonce,andhisglancepassedslowlyfromhertoHarney,whosearmwasstillabouther.Hestoodstaringatthem,andtryingtomasterthesenilequiverofhislips;thenhedrewhimselfupwiththetremulousmajestyofdrunkenness,andstretchedouthisarm.

           “Youwhore—youdamn—bare-headedwhore,you!”heenunciatedslowly.

           Therewasascreamoftipsylaughterfromtheparty,andCharityinvoluntarilyputherhandstoherhead.Sherememberedthatherhathadfallenfromherlapwhenshejumpeduptoleavethestand;andsuddenlyshehadavisionofherself,hatless,dishevelled,withaman’sarmabouther,confrontingthatdrunkencrew,headedbyherguardian’spitiablefigure