"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."
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.
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