"It's a most extraordinary situation," he said.
"But what else could I do?" asked Mrs. Bunting.
"Of course the thing's a tremendous experiment," said my cousin Melville, and repeated quite inadvertently, "a tail!"
Clear and vivid before his eyes, obstructing absolutely the advance of his thoughts, were the shiny clear lines, the oily black, the green and purple and silver, and the easy expansiveness of a mackerel's termination.
"But really, you know," said my cousin Melville, protesting in the name of reason and the nineteenth century—"a tail!"
"I patted it," said Mrs. Bunting.
IV
Certain supplementary aspects of the Sea Lady's first conversation with Mrs. Bunting I got from that lady herself afterwards.
The Sea Lady had made one queer mistake. "Your four charming daughters," she said, "and your two sons."
"My dear!" cried Mrs. Bunting—they had got through their preliminaries by then—"I've only two daughters and one son!"
"The young man who carried—who rescued me?"
"Yes. And the other two girls are friends, you know, visitors who are staying with me. On land one has visitors———"
"I know. So I made a mistake?"
"Oh yes."
"And the other young man?"
342
