Guide Off the Deep End: The Search for Paradise a Novel

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Editorial Reviews. Review. "A fascinating and engrossing nose dive into the under-reported william hunt · out of 5 Off The Deep End: A History of Madness at Sea was an interesting book to read regarding this strange phenomenon.
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The theatre comes afterward; then a table at the Midnight Frolic—of course, mother will be along there, but she will serve only to make things more secretive and brilliant as she sits in solitary state at the deserted table and thinks such entertainments as this are not half so bad as they are painted, only rather wearying.

But the P. Didn't you notice how flushed the P. If the P. Try to find the P. The same girl Amory found it rather fascinating to feel that any popular girl he met before eight he might quite possibly kiss before twelve. I wanted to come out here with you because I thought you were the best-looking girl in sight. You really don't care whether you ever see me again, do you? What have I done to deserve it? Let's not talk about it. Amory was now eighteen years old, just under six feet tall and exceptionally, but not conventionally, handsome.

He had rather a young face, the ingenuousness of which was marred by the penetrating green eyes, fringed with long dark eyelashes. He lacked somehow that intense animal magnetism that so often accompanies beauty in men or women; his personality seemed rather a mental thing, and it was not in his power to turn it on and off like a water-faucet. But people never forgot his face. She paused at the top of the staircase. The sensations attributed to divers on spring-boards, leading ladies on opening nights, and lumpy, husky young men on the day of the Big Game, crowded through her.

She had been sixteen years old for six months. It'll be just a minute. Isabelle started toward the dressing-room for a last peek in the mirror, but something decided her to stand there and gaze down the broad stairs of the Minnehaha Club. They curved tantalizingly, and she could catch just a glimpse of two pairs of masculine feet in the hall below. Pump-shod in uniform black, they gave no hint of identity, but she wondered eagerly if one pair were attached to Amory Blaine. This young man, not as yet encountered, had nevertheless taken up a considerable part of her day—the first day of her arrival.

Coming up in the machine from the station, Sally had volunteered, amid a rain of question, comment, revelation, and exaggeration:. Well, he's simply mad to see you again. He's stayed over a day from college, and he's coming to-night. He's heard so much about you—says he remembers your eyes. This had pleased Isabelle. It put them on equal terms, although she was quite capable of staging her own romances, with or without advance advertising.

But following her happy tremble of anticipation, came a sinking sensation that made her ask:. Sally smiled. She felt rather in the capacity of a showman with her more exotic cousin. At this Isabelle's little fist had clinched suddenly under the fur robe. She was accustomed to be thus followed by her desperate past, and it never failed to rouse in her the same feeling of resentment; yet—in a strange town it was an advantageous reputation.


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Well—let them find out. Out of the window Isabelle watched the snow glide by in the frosty morning.

Off the Deep End: A History of Madness at Sea

It was ever so much colder here than in Baltimore; she had not remembered; the glass of the side door was iced, the windows were shirred with snow in the corners. Her mind played still with one subject. Did he dress like that boy there, who walked calmly down a bustling business street, in moccasins and winter-carnival costume? How very Western! Of course he wasn't that way: he went to Princeton, was a sophomore or something.

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Really she had no distinct idea of him. An ancient snap-shot she had preserved in an old kodak book had impressed her by the big eyes which he had probably grown up to by now. However, in the last month, when her winter visit to Sally had been decided on, he had assumed the proportions of a worthy adversary. Children, most astute of match-makers, plot their campaigns quickly, and Sally had played a clever correspondence sonata to Isabelle's excitable temperament.

Isabelle had been for some time capable of very strong, if very transient emotions They drew up at a spreading, white-stone building, set back from the snowy street. Weatherby greeted her warmly and her various younger cousins were produced from the corners where they skulked politely. Isabelle met them tactfully. At her best she allied all with whom she came in contact—except older girls and some women. All the impressions she made were conscious. The half-dozen girls she renewed acquaintance with that morning were all rather impressed and as much by her direct personality as by her reputation.

Amory Blaine was an open subject. Evidently a bit light of love, neither popular nor unpopular—every girl there seemed to have had an affair with him at some time or other, but no one volunteered any really useful information. He was going to fall for her Sally had published that information to her young set and they were retailing it back to Sally as fast as they set eyes on Isabelle.

Isabelle resolved secretly that she would, if necessary, force herself to like him—she owed it to Sally. Suppose she were terribly disappointed. In fact, he summed up all the romance that her age and environment led her to desire.

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She wondered if those were his dancing-shoes that fox-trotted tentatively around the soft rug below. All impressions and, in fact, all ideas were extremely kaleidoscopic to Isabelle. She had that curious mixture of the social and the artistic temperaments found often in two classes, society women and actresses.

Her education or, rather, her sophistication, had been absorbed from the boys who had dangled on her favor; her tact was instinctive, and her capacity for love-affairs was limited only by the number of the susceptible within telephone distance.

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Flirt smiled from her large black-brown eyes and shone through her intense physical magnetism. So she waited at the head of the stairs that evening while slippers were fetched. Just as she was growing impatient, Sally came out of the dressing-room, beaming with her accustomed good nature and high spirits, and together they descended to the floor below, while the shifting search-light of Isabelle's mind flashed on two ideas: she was glad she had high color to-night, and she wondered if he danced well.

Down-stairs, in the club's great room, she was surrounded for a moment by the girls she had met in the afternoon, then she heard Sally's voice repeating a cycle of names, and found herself bowing to a sextet of black and white, terribly stiff, vaguely familiar figures. The name Blaine figured somewhere, but at first she could not place him. A very confused, very juvenile moment of awkward backings and bumpings followed, and every one found himself talking to the person he least desired to.

Isabelle manoeuvred herself and Froggy Parker, freshman at Harvard, with whom she had once played hop-scotch, to a seat on the stairs.

A humorous reference to the past was all she needed. The things Isabelle could do socially with one idea were remarkable. First, she repeated it rapturously in an enthusiastic contralto with a soupcon of Southern accent; then she held it off at a distance and smiled at it—her wonderful smile; then she delivered it in variations and played a sort of mental catch with it, all this in the nominal form of dialogue.

Froggy was fascinated and quite unconscious that this was being done, not for him, but for the green eyes that glistened under the shining carefully watered hair, a little to her left, for Isabelle had discovered Amory. As an actress even in the fullest flush of her own conscious magnetism gets a deep impression of most of the people in the front row, so Isabelle sized up her antagonist.

First, he had auburn hair, and from her feeling of disappointment she knew that she had expected him to be dark and of garter-advertisement slenderness For the rest, a faint flush and a straight, romantic profile; the effect set off by a close-fitting dress suit and a silk ruffled shirt of the kind that women still delight to see men wear, but men were just beginning to get tired of. There was a stir, and Sally led the way over to their table. Amory struggled to Isabelle's side, and whispered:. Isabelle gasped—this was rather right in line.

But really she felt as if a good speech had been taken from the star and given to a minor character She mustn't lose the leadership a bit. The dinner-table glittered with laughter at the confusion of getting places and then curious eyes were turned on her, sitting near the head. She was enjoying this immensely, and Froggy Parker was so engrossed with the added sparkle of her rising color that he forgot to pull out Sally's chair, and fell into a dim confusion.

Amory was on the other side, full of confidence and vanity, gazing at her in open admiration.

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He began directly, and so did Froggy:. Both stopped. Isabelle turned to Amory shyly.


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Her face was always enough answer for any one, but she decided to speak. On her right Froggy was hors de combat already, although he hadn't quite realized it. She leaned slightly toward him and looked modestly at the celery before her. Froggy sighed—he knew Amory, and the situations that Amory seemed born to handle.

He turned to Sally and asked her if she was going away to school next year. Amory opened with grape-shot. Amory attempted to make them look even keener. He fancied, but he was not sure, that her foot had just touched his under the table.