They had half an hour to themselves in the quiet of the moonlit porch before the others, coming by electric car, could reach home.

They filled the time by sitting quietly on the top step, Jeff in the subdued mood of the young graduate who sees, after all, much to regret in the coming to an end of the years of getting ready for his life-work.  He was, besides, not a little wearied by the final examinations, preparation for his part in Commencement, and the closing round of exercises.  Evelyn, herself somewhat fatigued, leaned back against the porch pillar and gladly kept silence.

Before the others came Jeff spoke abruptly.  “It isn’t everybody who knows when to let a fellow be an oyster,” he said, gratefully.  “But I’m getting over the oyster mood now, and feel like talking.  Do you know, you’re going to leave an awful vacancy behind you when you go?”

“Oh, no,” Evelyn answered.  “There are so many of you, and you have such good times together, you can’t mind much when a stranger goes away.”

“Call yourself that?” Jeff laughed.  “Well I assure you we don’t.  You’re too thoroughly one of us—­in the way of liking the things we like and despising the things we despise.  Hullo, here come the people!  It was rather stealing a march on them to race home in an auto and let them follow by car, wasn’t it?’ Let’s go make ’em some lemonade to cheer their souls.”

“All right.”  Evelyn was wondering if this would give her the necessary chance to change her dress, when the big Forester automobile rounded the corner and rolled up to the curb, just as the party from the car reached the steps.  Behind it followed a second car of still more ample dimensions.

“I’ve come to take the whole party for a moonlight drive down the river!” called Frederic Forester.  “Go take off those cobweb frocks and put on something substantial.  I’ll give you ten minutes.  I’ve the prettiest sight to show you you’ve seen this year.”

“I believe I’m too tired and sleepy to go,” said Charlotte to Andy, as he followed her up-stairs.  “This week of commencing has about finished me.  Can’t you excuse me to Fred?  You go with them, if you like.”

“I don’t like, without you.”  Doctor Churchill was divesting himself of white cravat and collar.  “I know you’re worn out, dear, but I think the ride will brace you up.  It’s hot in the house to-night; it will be blissfully cool out on the river road.  Besides, Forester would be disappointed.  It isn’t every night he comes for us with a pair of autos.

“If I were going all alone with you in the runabout—­” sighed Charlotte, with a languor unusual to her.

“I know, I’d like that better myself.  But you needn’t talk on this trip—­there are enough to keep things lively without you.  You shall sit next your big boy, and he’ll hold your hand in the dark,” urged Doctor Churchill, artfully.

“On that condition, then,” and Charlotte rose from among the pillows, where she had sunk.