“Well, I confess it isn’t, much.  Oh there are some drinks!”—he approached the tray and its glasses.

“Indeed there are and quite delicious”—Mrs. Mavis largely wiped her mouth.

“Won’t you have another then?—a pink one, like your daughter’s gown.”

“With pleasure, sir.  Oh do see them over,” Mrs. Mavis continued, accepting from the young man’s hand a third tumbler.

“My mother and that gentleman?  Surely they can take care of themselves,” he freely pleaded.

“Then my daughter—she has a claim as an old friend.”

But his mother had by this time interposed.  “Jasper, what does your telegram say?”

He paid her no heed: he stood there with his glass in his hand, looking from Mrs. Mavis to Miss Grace.

“Ah leave her to me, madam; I’m quite competent,” I said to Mrs. Mavis.

Then the young man gave me his attention.  The next minute he asked of the girl: “Do you mean you’re going to Europe?”

“Yes, tomorrow.  In the same ship as your mother.”

“That’s what we’ve come here for, to see all about it,” said Mrs. Mavis.

“My son, take pity on me and tell me what light your telegram throws,” Mrs. Nettlepoint went on.

“I will, dearest, when I’ve quenched my thirst.”  And he slowly drained his glass.

“Well, I declare you’re worse than Gracie,” Mrs. Mavis commented.  “She was first one thing and then the other—but only about up to three o’clock yesterday.”

“Excuse me—won’t you take something?” Jasper inquired of Gracie; who however still declined, as if to make up fo