“No, I don’t want to lie down.  I’ll join you girls very shortly.  I suppose you have a maid for me, Mona?  I shall need one for my exclusive service.”

“Oh, yes, Auntie; you may have Lisette.”

“Not if she’s French.  I can’t abide a French maid.”

“Well, she is,—­partly.  Then I’ll give you Mary.  She’s a good American.”

“Americans have no taste.  Is there a Norwegian girl on the place?  I had a Norwegian maid once, and she—­”

“No, there isn’t,” said Mona, deeming it wise to cut short another string of reminiscences.  “You try Mary, and if you don’t like her, we’ll see what we can do.”

“Well—­send her to me—­and we’ll see.”

Mona rang for Mary, and then the two girls went down to the pleasant and cool veranda.

“It’s lucky you have such shoals of servants,” said Patty.  “At our house, we couldn’t give a guest a choice of nationalities.”

“Oh, Patty, isn’t she a terror?”

“Who, Mary?”

“No!  Aunt Adelaide!  It gives me the creeps to look at her.  She’s so slight and fragile, I expect to see her go to pieces like a soap bubble.”

“She is like a soap bubble, isn’t she!  But, Mona, you mustn’t talk about her like that.  I feel sorry for her, she looks so ill and weak.  I think we ought to do all we can to cheer her up, and to restore her health and strength.  I’m sure she’s refined and dainty in her way.”

“Yes, she’s all of that.  But I don’t see how she can do the chaperon act.”

“Oh, well, there isn’t much to do.  It’s only the idea of having a matronly lady here to observe the proprieties.”

“But I don’t believe she can do that.  I think she’ll take to her bed soon.  She ought to go to a good sanitarium.”

“Nonsense, Mona, she isn’t as ill as all that!  Can’t you see through her?  She’s the sort of lady who likes to fancy she’s ill, and likes to try all sorts of quack medicines.”

“Well, you can look after her, Patty; you seem to understand her so well.”

“All right, I will.  Hush, here she comes.”

Mrs. Parsons came slowly out to the veranda.  She was followed by Mary, carrying a fan, a light wrap, a book, a thermometer, and a glass of lemonade.

“Sit here, won’t you, Aunt Adelaide?” said Mona, politely offering a comfortable wicker chair.

“I’ll try this, my dear, but I fear it’s too low for me.  Can you get another cushion or two?”

Mona went for more cushions, and then Aunt Adelaide had to have the chair moved, for fear of a possible draught,—­though there wasn’t a breath of wind stirring.  Then a table must be moved nearer for the book and the lemonade, and the thermometer placed where it would get neither sun nor wind.

“I always keep a thermometer near me,” she explained, “and I always bring my own, for otherwise I can’t feel sure they are accurate.”

Mrs. Parsons wore a dress of light grey lawn.  Though cool looking, it was unbecoming, for it had no touch of black or white to relieve its monotony, and on the colourless lady it had a very dull effect.  But, though languid, Aunt Adelaide was quite able to give orders for what she wanted.  She sent Mary for another book, and for more sugar for her lemonade.  Then she fidgeted because a stray sunbeam came too near her.