Mabel arranged everything in good order for her chicken concoction, and at last had only the mayonnaise to make. That occurred on the afternoon of the party. Cuthbert and Harry and Mr. Maclean were all about--supposed to be helping. May Turberville, Betty’s great friend, and her brother Lance, a boy of fourteen, brought round various loans in the way of cups and cream and sugar "things." The table in the dining-room was laid for supper with a most dainty centre-piece decked with roses and candelabra. Most of their labours being over, the company retreated to the smoke-room, where "high jinks" were soon in process. Lance capered about, balancing chairs on his nose, and doing the wild things which only take place in a smoke-room. In the midst of it appeared Mabel, wide-eyed and distressed, at the door. The white apron of a few days ago was smeared with little elongated drops of oily stuff. She held a fork wildly dripping in her hand. "Oh--oh, isn’t it awful," she cried, "the mayonnaise won’t may." It was the last anxiety, and, in the matter of the pints of the Leighton girls, quite the last straw. Just when they had begun to be confident of their party, the real backbone of the thing had given out. Dr. Harry removed a cigarette from his lips. "Hey--what’s that?" he asked. "Mayonnaise--ripping! I knew an American Johnnie who made it. Bring it here, and we’ll put it right." Mabel spread her hands mutely. "In this atmosphere?" she asked. Oh! They had soon the windows open. Harry insisted he could make mayonnaise. "You don’t meet American men for nothing, let me tell you," he said. It was fun to see him supplied with plate, fork and bottles. He looked at Mabel’s attempt at dressing. "Good gracious!" he said, "where’s the egg?" Mabel turned rather faint. "I put in the white," said she. Dr. Harry roared. Then he explained carefully and kindly. "Mayonnaise is an interesting affair--apart from the joys of eating it. A chemical action takes place between the yoke of an egg and the oil and vinegar. You could hardly expect the white to play up." "It was Cook," exclaimed Mabel. "She said something about yokes for a custard and whites for--for----" "Meringues, you donkey," said Jean. Dr. Harry made the mayonnaise. Lance Turberville cut the most shameful capers throughout. He decorated Harry with paper aprons and the cap of a chef, and stuck his eyeglass in the wrong eye while Harry worked patiently with a fork in semicircles. He was sent off with Betty and May, only to reappear later dressed out as a maid-servant. Nobody except Dr. Harry could take the mayonnaise seriously while Lance was about. At that moment the outdoor bell rang. With the inspiration born of mischief, and before any one could stop him, Lance rushed off and opened it. Three ladies stood on the doorstep.