“Say, Jack,” said Burnett in an undertone, “let’s have Lucinda come to town next and see the effect on her.”

“Miss Watkins,” said Clover through his megaphone, “as a mark of my affection I beg to offer you my white mouse.  Do you accept?”

“Oh, I don’t want to go back to the house yet,” said Aunt Mary, much disturbed.  “It’s too soon.”

“We won’t go home till morning,” said Burnett.  “Not by a long shot.  Here, Mitchell, give us a speech.  Home! we don’t want to drink to it, but we do want to drink to it here.”

“Home!” said Mitchell, rising with his glass in his hand.  “Home! here’s to home, and I’ll drink to it in anything but a cab.  Home, Aunt Mary and gentlemen, is the place where one may go when every other place is closed.  As long as any other place is open, however, I do not recommend going home.  The contrast is always sharp and bitter and to be avoided until unavoidable circumstances, over which we possess but little control, force us to give our address to the man who drives and let him drive us to the last place on the map.  And so I drink to that last place—­home; and here’s to it, not now, but a good deal later, and not then unless what must be has got to result.”

Mitchell paused and they all drank.

“Me next now,” exclaimed Burnett, jumping to his feet.  “I’m going to make a speech at my own dinner, and as a good speech is best made off-hand, I’ve picked out an off-hand subject and arise to give you ‘Lucinda.’  Having never met her I feel able to say nothing good about her and I call the company present to witness that I shall say nothing bad either.  I gather from what I have had a stray chance of picking up that Lucinda is all that she should be, and nothing frisque.  The latter quality is too bad, but it’s not my fault.  Therefore, I say again ‘Lucinda’, and here’s to her very good health.  May she never regret that Fate has given her no chance to have anything to regret.”

Aunt Mary applauded this speech heartily even if she hadn’t quite caught the whole of it and had no idea of whom it was about.

“Who’s goin’ to speak now?” she asked anxiously.

“I am,” said Clover modestly.  “I rise to propose the health of our honored guest, Miss Watkins.  We all know what kin she is to one of us, and we all weep that she didn’t do as well by the rest of us.  Aunt Mary!  Glasses down!”

“You can’t drink this, you know, Aunt Mary,” said Jack,—­“it’s bad taste to drink to yourself.”

“I don’t want to drink,” said Aunt Mary, beaming,—­“I like to watch you.”

“Here’s to Aunt Mary’s liking to watch us!” cried Clover.

“No,” said Burnett rising, “don’t.  It’s time to go and get the salad now.”

“We’d ought to have the automobile for this party,” said Aunt Mary, and everyone applauded her idea, as they rose and gathered up their belongings.

It was a droll procession of men with mice and a lady with a parrot that got under way and moved in among the Japanese fans and swinging lanterns of the next room in the suite of Burnett’s friend.  Five little individual tables were laid there and on each table lay a Japanese creature of some sort which—­being opened somewhere—­revealed salad within.