“Granite,” said Aunt Mary very solemnly, as she collapsed upon her bed twenty minutes later yet, “put it down on that memoranda for me never to find no fault with nothing ever again.  Never—­not ever—­not never again.”

* * * * *

The second day after was that which had been set for Mitchell’s yachting party.  They allowed a day to lapse between because a yachting party has to begin early enough so that you can see to get on board.  Mitchell wanted his to begin early enough so that they could see the yacht too.

“A yacht, Miss Watkins,” he said into the ear trumpet, “is a delight that it takes daylight to delight in.  If my words sound somewhat mixed, believe me, it is the effect of what is to come casting its shadow before.  I speak with understanding and sympathy—­you will know all later.”

Aunt Mary smiled sweetly.  Sometimes she thought that Mitchell was the nicest of the three—­times when she wasn’t talking to Clover or Burnett.

Jack took his aunt out to drive on the afternoon of the intervening day and bought her a blue suit with a red tape around one arm, and some rubbersoled shoes, and a yachting cap and a mackintosh.  There was something touching in Aunt Mary’s joyful confidence and anticipation—­she having never been cast loose from shore in all her life.

“When do you s’pose we’ll get home?” she asked Jack.

“Oh, some time toward night,” he replied.

She smiled with a trust as colossal as Trusts usually are.

“I’m sure I shall have a good time,” she said.  “I always liked to see pictures of waves.”

“You’ll see the real things now, Aunt Mary,” cried her nephew heartily.  He was not a bit malicious, possessing a stomach whose equilibrium could not conceive any other anatomical condition.

Janice, however, had doubts, and on the morning of the next day her doubts deepened.  She looked from the window and shook her head.

“Feel a fly?” inquired Aunt Mary.

“No, I see some clouds,” yelled her maid.

“I didn’t ask you to speak loud,” said the old lady.  “I always hear what you say.  Always.”

Janice went out of the room and voiced her views of the weather to the proprietors of the expedition.  The proprietors were having an uproarious breakfast on ham and eggs—­all but Mitchell, who sat somewhat aloof and contented himself with an old and reliable breakfast food long known to his race.

“Are you really going to take her up the Sound to-day?” the maid demanded of the merry mob.

“I’m not,” said Burnett; “it’s the yacht that’s going to take her.  Pass the syrup, Jack, like the jack you are.”

“Doesn’t she feel well?” Jack asked, passing the syrup as requested.  “If she doesn’t feel well, of course, we won’t go.”

“I like that,” said Mitchell, “when it’s my day for my party and my cook all provisioned with provisions for provisioning us all.  How long do you suppose ice cream stays together in this month of roses, anyhow?”