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?” “She is very well,” said the maid quietly, “but it’s blowing pretty fresh here in the city and I thought that out on the Sound—” “Blowing fresh, is it?” laughed Burnett; “well, it’ll salt her fast enough when we get out. Don’t you fuss over what’s none of your business, my dear girl; just trot along upstairs and dress dolly, and when she’s dressed we’ll take her off your hands.” Jack appeared unduly quiet. “Do you think it is going to storm?” he asked Mitchell. Mitchell was scraping his saucer with the thrift that thrives north of the Firth of Forth and hatches yachts on the west shores of the Atlantic. “I don’t think at all during vacation,” he said mildly. “I repose and reap ‘Oh’s’—from other people.” “If there was any chance of a storm——?” said the nephew, thoughtfully.