at least if we'd stayed here through August, we should have had a very nice time.
"But we're not having a nice time, here at this noisy hotel, Uncle Hutchinson, where the band can't keep quiet for half an hour at a time, and where the only notion that people seem to have of amusement is to overdress themselves and wear diamonds to dinner and sit in crowds on the verandas and dance at night with any stranger who can get another stranger to introduce him and to drive over on fine afternoons to that place by the lake and drink mixed drinks until some of them actually get tipsy. I really think that it all is positively horrid. And so I'm quite willing now to go to the White Sulphur. It is stupid, I know, but I've always heard that it is intensely respectable. I will get my packing all done this afternoon, and we will start to-morrow morning; and I think that you'd better go and telegraph for rooms right away."
But to Dorothy's surprise, and also to her chagrin, Mr. Port refused to entertain her prop
A spoiled, cynical, and obdurate teenaged woman is dumped on her aged, overweight, pretentious uncle when her mother dies. They begin a battle of wills.
The writing is stodgy, but literate. The witticisms are droll. Every character is irritating; I only felt sympathy for the mother, who came out of the story the winner by dying.
If you like stories about the dreadful problems of the upper class, this one's for you.