She dug in her heels and pressed her palms to the wooden sides of the bathing machine. "No, we shall not, Mama," answered Lady Flora Winton, Lady Rensley’s older daughter. As usual, Flora exercised great patience in her reply, having long since learned to curb her exasperation with her supremely cautious mother. Flora’s younger sister Amy declared, "If Flora says it is safe then it is safe, Mama." Her firm voice echoed her sister’s confidence, although she, too, looked a trifle unnerved as the bathing machine, which resembled nothing more than a tiny, steep-roofed house set atop a wagon, jolted toward the sea, pulled by a sway-backed horse that had seen better days. "Quite safe," Flora murmured, only half listening. The ocean at last. Eagerly she peered through the small opening at the front of the wagon. For as long as she could remember, her family had taken their summer holiday at the seashore, yet never had she stuck so much as a toe directly into the surf.
