In regard to Narragansett Pier, Miss Lee’s opinions, the which she was neither slow in forming nor unduly cautious in expressing, at first were unfavorable.

“And so this is ‘the Pier,’ is it?” she observed in a tone by no means expressive of approval as she stood on the hotel veranda on the day of her arrival, and contemplated the rather limited prospect that was bounded at one end by the Casino and at the other by the coal-elevator. “If those smelly little stones out there are ‘the Rocks’ that people talk about at such a rate I must confess that I am disappointed in them”—Mr. Port hastened to assure her that the Rocks were in quite a different direction—“and if that is the Casino, while it seems a nice sort of a place, I really think that they might have managed the arch so as not to have that horrid green house showing under it. And what little poor affairs the hotels are! Really, Uncle Hutchinson, I don’t see what there is in this little place to make such a fuss about.”

“Dorothy,” replied Mr. Port, with much solemnity, “you evidently forget—though I certainly have mentioned the fact to you repeatedly—that the climate of this portion of Rhode Island is the most distinctively antibilious climate to be found upon the whole coast of North America. For persons possessing delicate livers—”

“Oh, bother delicate livers—at least, I beg your pardon, Uncle Hutchinson,” for an expression of such positive pain had come into Mr. Port’s face at this irreverent reference to an organ that he regarded as sacred that even Dorothy was forced to make some sort of an apology. “Of course I don’t want to bother your poor liver more than it is bothered anyway; but, you know, I haven’t got a liver, and I don’t care for climates a bit. What I mean is: what do people do here to have a good time?”

“In the morning,” replied Mr. Port, “they bathe, and in the afternoon they drive to the Point. This morning we shall bathe, Dorothy—bathing is an admirable liver tonic—and this afternoon we shall drive to the Point.”

“Good heavens! Is that all?” exclaimed Miss Lee. “Why, it’s worse than Saratoga. Do you mean to say, Uncle Hutchinson, that people don’t dance here, and don’t go yachting, and don’t have lunch-parties, and don’t play tennis, and don’t even have afternoon teas?”

“I believe that some of these things are done here,” replied Mr. Port, in a tone that implied that such frivolities were quite beyond the lines of his own personal interests. “Yes,” he continued, “I am sure that all of them are done here now—for the Pier is not what it used to be, Dorothy. The quiet air of intense respectability that characterized Narragansett when it was the resort only of a few of the best families of Philadelphia has departed from it—I fear forever! But, thank Heaven, its climatic characteristics remain intact. When you are older, Dorothy, and your liver asserts itself, you will appreciate this incomparable climate at its proper value.”

“Well, it hasn’t asserted itself yet, you know; and I must say I’m devoutly thankful that something has happened to wake up the quiet and intensely respectable Philadelphians before I had to come here. But I’m very glad, dear Uncle Hutchinson,” Miss Lee continued, winningly, “that this climate is so good for you, and I’m sure I hope that you won’t have a single bilious attack all the time that you are here. And you’ll take your angel to the dances, and to see the tennis, and you’ll give her lunch-parties, and you’ll take her yachting, won’t you, you dear? But I know you will; and if this were not such a very conspicuous place, and might make a scandal, I’d give you a very sweet kiss to pay you in advance for all the trouble that you are going to take to make your angel enjoy herself. You needn’t bother about the teas, Uncle Hutchinson—for the most part they’re only women, and stupid.”

Being still somewhat cast down by painful memories of that trying final fortnight in Saratoga, during which he and his niece had pulled so strongly in opposite directions, Mr. Port heard with a lively alarm this declaration of a plan of campaign which, if carried out, would wreck hopelessly his own comfort of body and peace of mind. Obviously, this was no time for faltering. If the catastrophe was to be averted, he must speak out at once and with a decisive energy.

“I need not tell you, Dorothy,” he began, speaking in a most grave and earnest tone, “that it is my desire to discharge in the amplest and kindest manner my duties towards you as a guardian—”

“I’m sure of it, and of course you needn’t tell me, you dearest dear—and we might begin with just a little lunch to-day. The breakfast was horrid, and I didn’t get half enough even of what there was.”

“But I must say now,” Mr. Port went on—keenly regretting the unfortunate beginning that he had given to his declaration of independence, but judiciously ignoring Dorothy’s shrewd perversion of it—“that your several suggestions literally are impossibilities. I admit that dancing for a short period, at about an hour after each meal, is an admirable exercise that produces a most salutary effect upon the digestive apparatus; but persistent dancing until an unduly late period of the night is a practice as unhygienic as, in the mixed company of a watering-place, it is socially objectionable.

“Tennis is an absurdity worthy of the vacuous minds of those who engage in it.. To suggest that I shall sit in a cramped position in a draughty gallery for several hours at a stretch in order to watch empty-headed young men playing a perverted form of battledoor and shuttlecock across a net, is to imply that they and I are upon the same intellectual level; and this, I trust, is not the case.

“As you certainly should remember, Dorothy, all persons of a bilious habit suffer severely from seasickness; a fact that, of course, disposes effectually of your yachting plans. For you are not desirous, I am sure, of purchasing your own selfish enjoyment—if you possibly can have enjoyment on board a yacht—at the cost of my intense personal misery.

“But in regard to the lunches, my dear”—Mr. Port’s tone softened perceptibly—“there certainly is something to be said. The food here at the hotel, I admit, is atrocious, and at the Casino it is possible occasionally to procure something eatable. Yes, I shall have much pleasure in giving a lunch this very morning to my angel” (Mr. Port, warming in advance under the genial influence of the croquette and salad that he intended to order, became playful), “for what you said in regard to the breakfast, Dorothy, was quite true—it was abominable. If you will excuse me, I will just step down to the Casino now and give my order; then things will be all ready for us when we get back from the bath.”

And such was Miss Lee’s generalship that she rested content with her success in one direction, and deferred until a more convenient season her further demands. She was a reasonable young woman, and was quite satisfied with accomplishing one thing at a time.