She refused to go
to the Plaza. And these refusals she made deliberately, without asking
herself why.
On August 1st she accompanied her aunt and several friends to Lake Placid,
where they established themselves at a hotel. How welcome to Carley's
strained eyes were the green of mountains, the soft gleam of amber water!
How sweet and refreshing a breath of cool pure air! The change from New
York's glare and heat and dirt, and iron-red insulating walls, and
thronging millions of people, and ceaseless roar and rush, was tremendously
relieving to Carley. She had burned the candle at both ends. But the beauty
of the hills and vales, the quiet of the forest, the sight of the stars,
made it harder to forget. She had to rest. And when she rested she could
not always converse, or read, or write.
For the most part her days held variety and pleasure. The place was
beautiful, the weather pleasant, the people congenial. She motored over the
forest roads, she canoed along the margin of the lake, she played golf and
tennis. She wore exquisite gowns to dinner and danced during the evenings.
But she seldom walked anywhere on the trails and, never alone, and she
never climbed the mountains and never rode a horse.
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