"Jane would n’t have either of us in the kitchen. Olive did the flowers, and Norah and I the table. I got in an English fashion or two that will either drive mother to distraction or fill her with pride. I forgot to tell her," and Shirley began to laugh. She led Murray away to safer regions, but he looked at his watch and said he must be off. "Wasn’t it worth coming up for?" she demanded. "No question of that. Much obliged for letting me know. I ’ll settle with Jane later. Take her out for a drive, or something, to cool her off, will you? Good bye!" And Murray vanished, smiling to himself. "That ought to make her pretty solid with mother," he reflected, as he raced to his car. But when the last guest had rustled away, Mrs. Townsend was in no condition to fall upon Jane’s neck and overwhelm her with thanks. Instead she had to be carried to her room by Phelps, the coachman--summoned in haste from the stable--and put to bed by her daughters. Her physician arrived in short order, and his edict, when he had telephoned for a nurse, was stern. "When you society women stop putting yourselves through a grind that no strong man could stand up under, you will get a grip upon your nerves," said he. "Mrs. Townsend was at the end of her forces two months ago, and I told her so. She has simply been keeping up on will--with the inevitable result. The moment she is fit to travel she must get off to the quietest place on my list--and stay there. Home would be a better place for her, if she would obey the rules; but she won ’t, so that settles it. And you, Miss Olive"--he turned abruptly to the elder daughter of the house--"would do well to go with her. It’s evident you ’ve been travelling along the same road." "O Doctor Warrener, how absurd you are! I ’m perfectly well. And I ’ve half a dozen invitations to lovely places. They ’ll do me far more good than going to some invalid resort and taking baths." He shook his head. "You’re all alike," said he. "I may talk till I ’m dumb--you ’ll pay the price. And when you ’ve paid it, you ’ll remember." "There are two," said Olive, indicating Jane and Shirley, "who will never have nervous prostration on account of overdoing society." Doctor Warrener surveyed them, and the grimness of his face relaxed. "I’ll acquit them on their faces," said he. "Tell your husband, Mrs. Murray, to shut you up in a bandbox--or, better, take you off West to that place where he got back his health--before he lets you drift into the swirl. As for Shirley,"--he laid his hand upon her shoulder--"if I’m any reader of destiny--and I ought to be--she ’s going to swing that tennis racquet for several years yet before she gives up and settles down."