Chapter 2

           "Wethoughtmaybeyouwereintheplot,"saidMrs.McKisco.Shewasashabby-eyed,prettyyoungwomanwithadishearteningintensity."Wedon’tknowwho’sintheplotandwhoisn’t.Onemanmyhusbandhadbeenparticularlynicetoturnedouttobeachiefcharacter—practicallytheassistanthero."

           "Theplot?"inquiredRosemary,halfunderstanding."Isthereaplot?"

           "Mydear,wedon’tKNOW,"saidMrs.Abrams,withaconvulsive,stoutwoman’schuckle."We’renotinit.We’rethegallery."

           Mr.Dumphry,atow-headedeffeminateyoungman,remarked:"MamaAbramsisaplotinherself,"andCampionshookhismonocleathim,saying:"Now,Royal,don’tbetooghastlyforwords."Rosemarylookedatthemalluncomfortably,wishinghermotherhadcomedownherewithher.Shedidnotlikethesepeople,especiallyinherimmediatecomparisonofthemwiththosewhohadinterestedherattheotherendofthebeach.Hermother’smodestbutcompactsocialgiftgotthemoutofunwelcomesituationsswiftlyandfirmly.ButRosemaryhadbeenacelebrityforonlysixmonths,andsometimestheFrenchmannersofherearlyadolescenceandthedemocraticmannersofAmerica,theselattersuperimposed,madeacertainconfusionandletherinforjustsuchthings.

           Mr.McKisco,ascrawny,freckle-and-redmanofthirty,didnotfindthetopicofthe"plot"amusing.Hehadbeenstaringatthesea—nowafteraswiftglanceathiswifeheturnedtoRosemaryanddemandedaggressively:

           "Beenherelong?"

           "Onlyaday."