Extraordinary-looking mixed drinks, strictly against the mandates of
the "cure," appeared at their table. Strange midnight goings-on were
reported by the more conservative hotel guests, and the privacy of their
circle was allowed full integrity by the little veranda groups of gouty
ladies or middle-aged husbands with liver spots on their faces. The bath
attendants reveled in the largest tips of the season. When Hester walked
down the large dining room evenings, she was a signal for the craning of
necks for the newest shock of her newest extreme toilette. The kinds of
toilettes that shocked the women into envy and mental notes of how the
underarm was cut, and the men into covert delight. Wheeler liked to sit
back and put her through her paces like a high-strung filly.
"Make 'em sit up, girl! You got them all looking like dimes around
here."
One night she descended to the dining room in a black evening gown so
daringly lacking in back, and yet, withal, so slimly perfect an elegant
thing, that an actual breathlessness hung over the hall, the clatter of
dishes pausing.
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