They rapidly formed on somewhat after the plan of the famous “Marriage under the Directoire.” Aunt Mary commanded the center-rush, leaning on Jack’s arm, and the rest acted as half-backs, left wings, or flower-bearers, just as the reader prefers. They made quite a sensation as they proceeded to their box and more yet when they entered it. They were late—very late—as is the privilege of all box parties and their seating problem absorbed the audience to a degree never seen before or since. Jack put Aunt Mary and her green plaid waist in the middle and flanked her with purple violets and red carnations. The ear-trumpet was laid upon the orchids just where she could reach it easily. Then her escorts took positions as a sort of half-moon guard behind and each held two or three American Beauties straight up and down as if they were the insignia of his rank and office. The effect was gorgeous. The very actors saw and were interested at once. They directed all their attention to that one box, and at the end of the act the stage manager got the writer of the topical song on the wire and had a brand new and very apropos verse added which brought down the house. Jack and his party caught on and clapped like mad, Aunt Mary beat the front of the box with her ear-trumpet, and when Clover suggested that she throw some flowers to the heroine she threw the orchids and came near maiming the bass viol for life. Burnett rushed out between acts and bought her a cane to pound with, Jack rushed out between more acts and bought her a pair of opera glasses, Mitchell rushed out between still further acts and procured her one of those Japanese fans which they use for fire-screens, and agitated it around her during the rest of the evening. “Time of your life, Aunt Mary,” Jack vociferated under the cover of a general chorus; “Time of your life!” “Oh, my,” said Aunt Mary, heaving a great sigh, “seems if I’d _die_ when I think of Lucinda.” They got out of the theater somewhat after eleven and Clover took them all to a French café for supper, so that again it was pretty well along into the day after when Janice regained her charge. “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.”