“What?” asked Aunt Mary.  “I didn’t—­”

Jack cut her short by leading the party inside.

The scene within was as gorgeous with golden stucco as the dining-room of a German liner.  Aunt Mary was so overcome that she traversed half the room before she became aware of the mighty attention which she and her three escorts were attracting.  In truth, it is not every day that three good-looking young men take a tiny old lady, a bunch of violets and an ear-trumpet out to dine at ten o’clock.

“Everyone’s lookin’,” she said to Jack.

“It’s your back, Aunt Mary,” he replied, in a voice that shook some loose golden flakes from the ceiling.  “I tell you, not many women of your age have a back like yours, and don’t you forget it.”

The compliment pleased Aunt Mary, because she had all her life been considered round-shouldered.  It also pleased her because she never had received many compliments.  The Aunt Marys of this world love flattery just as dearly as the Mrs. Rosscotts; the sad part of life is that they rarely get any.  The women like Mrs. Rosscott know why the Aunt Marys go unflattered, but the Aunt Marys never understand.  It’s all sad—­and true—­ and undeniable.

They went to a table, and were barely seated when another man came up.

“Hello, Jack!”

“Hello, Mitchell!”

It was he of Scotch ancestry.  Jack sprang up and greeted him with warmth, then he turned to Aunt Mary.

“Aunt Mary,” he screamed, “this is my friend”—­he paused, put on all steam and ploughed right through—­“Herbert Kendrick Mitchell.”

“I didn’t catch that at all,” said Aunt Mary, calmly, “but I’m just as glad to meet the gentleman.”

Mitchell clasped her hand with an expression as burning as if it was real.

“I declare,” he yelled straight at her, “if this isn’t what I’ve been dreaming towards ever since I first knew Jack.”

Aunt Mary fairly shone.

“Dear me,” she began, “if I’d known—­”

“You’d better dine with us, Mitchell,” said Jack; “that’ll make five.”

“It won’t make but three for me,” said Mitchell.  “I haven’t had but two dinners before to-night.”

Clover smiled because he heard, and Aunt Mary smiled because she didn’t, but was happy anyway.  She had altogether forgotten that she had demurred at dining out.  They all sat down and shook out their napkins.  Mitchell and Clover shook Aunt Mary’s for her and gave it a beautiful cornerways spread across her lap.

Then the waiter laid another plate for Mitchell, and brought oyster cocktails for everyone.  Aunt Mary eyed hers with early curiosity and later suspicion; and she smelled of it very carefully.

“I don’t believe they’re good oysters,” she said.

“Yes, they are,” cried Mitchell reassuringly.  His voice, when he turned it upon her, was pitched like a clarionet.  The blind would surely have seen as well as the deaf have heard had there been any candidates for miracles in his immediate vicinity.  “They’re first-class,” he added, “you just go at them and see.”