“She says she feels as well as ever,” said Janice, opening her eyes a trifle as she noted Burnett’s pink silk negligée, “and wishes to know when you want to start.” “Bravo,” said Mitchell; “I, too, am fired by this exposition of pluck. I like spirit. She reminds me of the horse who was turned out to grass and then suddenly broke the world’s record.” “What horse was that?” asked Burnett. “Pegasus,” said Mitchell cruelly; “I didn’t say what kind of a record he broke, did I?” “What shall I tell Miss Watkins?” asked the maid. Jack, who had risen at her entrance and gone to the window, faced around here and said: “Tell her that if she’ll dress we’ll go out bonnet-shooting and afterwards drive in the park.” Janice hesitated. “She will surely ask where you are to dine,” said she, half-smiling. Jack looked at the crowd. “Fellows,” he said, “we must save up for to-morrow’s blow-out; suppose you let Mitchell and me dine Aunt Mary somewhere very tranquilly to-night and we’ll get her home by eleven.” “Yes, do,” said Janice, with sudden earnest entreaty. “Honestly, there is a limit.” “Of course, there is a limit,” said Mitchell. “Even cities have their limits. This one tried to be an exception, but San Francisco yelled ‘Keep off’ and she drew in her claws again. Aunt Mary, possessing many points in common with New York, also possesses that. She has limits. Her limits took in more than we bargained for,—for they have taken us into the bargain. Still they are there, and we bow to necessity. A cheerful drive, a quiet tea, early to bed. And _pax vobiscum_.” “No wonder,” said Burnett, “it’s easy for you to agree when you’re to be one of the dinner party.” “I don’t mind being left out,” said Clover contentedly. “I shall sit on the sofa and whisper to ‘the one behind.’ Whispering is an art that I have almost forgotten, but inspired by that pink—” “Then I’ll tell Miss Watkins to dress for the going out,” said Janice, pointedly addressing herself to Jack. “Yes, please do.” The maid left the room and went upstairs. Aunt Mary was tossing about on her pillow. “Well, what’s it to be?” she asked instantly. “The storm has made it too wet to picnic,” replied Janice. “Mr. Denham wants to take you to drive and afterwards you and Mr. Mitchell and he are to dine—” “And Burnett and Clover?” cried Aunt Mary in appalled interruption; “where are they goin’?” “Really, I don’t know.” “I don’t like the idea,” said Aunt Mary; “we’d ought to all be together. I never did approve of splittin’ up in small parties. Did Jack say anythin’ about my gettin’ another bonnet?” “Yes, he thought that you would go to a milliner first.”