Aunt Caroline arose.  “When does the next boat leave?” She asked calmly.

“But—­dash it all!  We’re not invited.  We can’t butt in.  I—­I won’t go.”

Aunt Caroline, admirable woman, knew when she was defeated.  She had a formula for it, a formula which seldom failed to turn defeat into victory.  When all else failed, Aunt Caroline collapsed.  She collapsed now.  She had borne a great deal, she had not complained, but to be told that her presence would be a “butting in” upon the only living child of her only dead sister was more than even her fortitude could endure!  No, she wouldn’t take a glass of water, water would choke her.  No, she wouldn’t lie down.  No, she wouldn’t lower her voice.  What did hotel people matter to her?  What did anything matter?  She had come to the end.  Accustomed to ingratitude as she was, hardened to injustice and desertion, there were still limits—­

There were.  The doctor had reached his.  Hastily he explained that she had mistaken his meaning.  And, to prove it, engaged passage at once, for the next upcoast trip, on the same little steamer which a few days earlier had carried Mr. and Mrs. Benis H. Spence.

It was a heavenly day.  The mountains lifted them-selves out of veils of tinted mist, the islands lay like jewels—­but Aunt Caroline, impervious to mere scenery, turned her thought severely inward.

“I suppose,” she said to her now subdued escort, “that we shall have to pay the secretary a month’s salary.  Benis will scarcely wish to take him back east with us.”

The doctor attempted to answer but seemed to have some trouble with his throat.

“It’s the damp air,” said Aunt Caroline.  “Have a troche.  If Benis really needs a secretary I think I can arrange to get one for him.  Do you remember Mary Davis?  Her mother was an Ashton—­a very good family.  But unfortunate.  The girls have had to look out for themselves rather.  Mary took a course.  She could be a secretary, I’m sure.  Benis could always correct things afterward.  And she is not too young.  Just about the right age, I should think.  They used to know each other.  But you know what Benis is.  He simply doesn’t—­your cold is quite distressing, Doctor.  Do take a troche.”

The doctor took one.

“Of course Benis may object to a lady secretary—­”

“By Jove,” said Rogers as if struck with a brilliant idea.  “Perhaps his secretary is a lady!”

“How do you mean—­a lady!  Don’t be absurd, Doctor.  You said yourself there was no proper hotel.  Benis is discreet.  I’ll say that for him.”

The doctor’s brilliance deserted him.  He twiddled his thumbs.  But although Aunt Caroline’s repudiation of his suggestion had been unhesitating there was a gleam of new uneasiness in her eye.  She said no more.  It was indeed quite half an hour before she remarked explosively.

“Unless it were an Indian!”

Her companion turned from the scenery in pained surprise.