AFFAIRS OF STATE




CHAPTER I


The Wiles of Womankind

Archibald Rushford, tall, lean, the embodiment of energy, stood at the
window, hands in pockets, and stared disgustedly out at the dreary vista
of sand-dunes and bathing-machines, closed in the distance by a stretch
of gray sea mounting toward a horizon scarcely discernible through the
drifting mist which hung above the water.

"Though why you wanted to come here at all," he continued, presumably
addressing two young ladies in the room behind him, "or why you want to
stay, now you _are_ here, passes my comprehension. One might as well be
buried alive, and be done with it. The sensations, I should imagine,
are about the same."

"Oh, come, dad!" protested one of the girls, laughing, "you know it
isn't so bad as that! There's plenty of life--not just at this hour of
the morning, perhaps,"--with a fleeting glance at the empty
landscape,--"but the hour is unfashionable."

"As everything seasonable and sensible seems to be here," put in her