Chris turned away from the window, she thought it would be fun to stroll down the beach; to stop and talk with the men and women and children. That’s what you’re here for, she said to herself, feeling very frustrated. The wife of one of the Princeton men was describing the clothes depicted in the last number of Harper’s Bazaar.

“My sister gave me a year’s subscription for my birthday. I meant to bring this month’s over, but I forgot. The baby was crying and the sitter came late as usual. You’ll die when you see what they’re wearing. I’m going home in August with the baby for two whole months and I won’t even take anything with me except what I stand up in on the trip. I wrote Mom if she didn’t present me with a whole new wardrobe I’d bring along my parka and just wear that. This is the first time I’ve been Outside in two years. I can’t wait. Outside! Imagine!” She closed her eyes in ecstasy.

Bridie was wearing one of the modish silk dresses she had bought at the Hollywood Shop in Baranof. She plucked at it now, she sat very straight with a preening effect. “A person would think you were serving time in jail. Outside! Outside! People feel that way about it, they ought to do with less and stay Outside and leave Alaska for those that love it.”

“Now, Bridie,” Chris chided. She glanced around at the women’s faces—resentful, friendly, uncomprehending, cautious, amused. “Mrs. Ballantyne is even more loyal to Alaska than I am. We’re both worse than the Texans. People in huge remote areas are usually provincial.” She smiled sweetly at the company. “I learned that in my freshman year at Baranof College.”

The young Easterner was a well-bred girl, she had been taught not to be pert with her elders. To her, Bridie was a relic of a past century. Christine she considered definitely goofy.

Chris had been accustomed from childhood to an atmosphere of male or mixed conversation. Baranof men and women worked together, they shared the town’s social life together, of necessity they often had to devise their own amusements. Conversation in Baranof was likely to be pungent, fresh-minted and thoughtful. How do you pass these long dark winter months in Alaska? Chris recalled now the standard joke in reply to the summer tourist’s standard question. Talking and reading and breeding babies.

Lowell Aragrook, the reindeer herder, was speaking as she glanced toward the quietly conversational dining room. He was wearing a good navy blue suit and a bow tie. On entering before dinner Chris had seen his parka just before he took it off. It was of finest seal, bordered with an intricate design in white ermine, she never had seen one so beautiful, she knew the value of these things, the time and labor that went into their making. This was, she knew, a museum piece. Mrs. Aragrook, in the sitting room, was taking absolutely no part in the women’s conversation. Amiable, half smiling, she simply sat like a good-natured bronze idol in a good black crepe dress and a good gold brooch and a pince-nez.