Captain Dan said—Well, it does not matter much what he said. He said a great deal, of course, during that evening and the next morning, and would have kept on saying it all the way to Trumet if his wife had not declined to listen.

“It is no use, Daniel,” she declared calmly but firmly. “I have thought it all out and I KNOW it is the right thing for us to do. You will think so, too, one of these days.”

“Durned if I will! I tell you, Serena—”

“Hush! you're telling everybody in the car, and THAT isn't necessary, at any rate. Now we won't argue any more until we get home. Then you can say your say; but”—with discouraging candor—“it won't change my decision a single mite. My mind is made up. A higher power than you or me has settled everything for us. We are going to Scarford to live, and we will go just as soon as we can get ready.”

And go they did. The captain fought a stubborn battle, surprisingly stubborn and protracted for him, but he surrendered at last. Serena drove him from one line of entrenchments after the other, and, at length, when she had him in the last ditch, where, argument and expostulation unavailing, he could only say, “No! no, I won't, I tell you!” over and over again, she used her most effective weapon, tears, and brought him to terms.

“You don't care,” she sobbed. “You don't care for me at all. All you care about is just yourself. You're willing to stay here in this awful place, you're willing to plod along just as you always have; and it doesn't make any difference about my wishes or my hopes, or anything. If you were like most husbands you'd be proud and glad to see me getting on in the world; you'd be glad to give me the chance to be somebody; you'd—”

“There! there! Serena, don't talk so. I'd do anything in this world to please you.”

“Hush! hush! I should think you'd be ashamed to say such things. I should think you'd be AFRAID to say them, afraid something would happen to you—you'd be struck down or something. Oh, well! I must be resigned, I suppose. I must give in, just as I always do. I must be satisfied to be miserable and—and—Oh, what shall I do? What SHALL I do?”

Sobs and more sobs, frantic clutchings at the sofa pillows and declarations that she had better die; it would be better for her and ever so much better for everyone else if she were dead. No one would care.

Poor Daniel, distressed and remorseful, vaguely conscious that he was right, but conscience stricken nevertheless, hoisted the white flag.

“Hush, hush, Serena!” he pleaded. “Land sakes, don't say such things—please don't. I'll do anything you want, of course I will. I'll go to Scarford, if you say so. I was just—”

“I don't ask you to go there forever. I never have asked that. I only ask you to go there and live a while and just see how we like it. That was all I asked, and you knew it. But you won't! you won't!”

“Why, yes I will, too. I'll go—go next week, if you say so. I—I just—”

He got no further. Mrs. Dott, wet-eyed but radiant, lifted her head from the sofa pillow and threw her arms about his neck.

“Will you?” she cried ecstatically. “Will you, Daniel? I knew you would. You're a dear, good man and I love you better than all the world. We will be so happy. You see if we aren't.”

The captain was no less doubtful of the happiness than he had ever been, but he tried to smile and to find comfort in the thought that she was happy if he was not.

He had written Gertrude telling of her mother's new notion and asking for advice and counsel. The reply, which came by return mail, did not cheer him as much as he had hoped.

“It was inevitable, I suppose,” Gertrude wrote. “I expected it. I was almost certain that Mother would want to live in Scarford. Mrs. Black has been telling her all summer about society and club life and what she calls 'woman's opportunity,' and Mother has come to believe that Scarford is Paradise. You will have to go, I think, Daddy dear. Perhaps it is just as well. Mother won't be satisfied until she has tried it, and perhaps, after she has tried it, she may be glad to come back to Trumet. My advice is to let her find out for herself, but, of course, if you feel sure it is wrong, then you must put your foot down, say no, and stick to it. No one can do that for you; you must do it yourself.”

Which was perfectly true, as true as the other fact—namely, that Captain Dan could not “stick to it” in a controversy with his wife, having lost the sticking faculty years before.

But, oddly enough, there was one point upon which he did stick and refused to budge: That point was Azuba's going to Scarford with them. Mrs. Ginn's attitude when she was told of the family exodus was a great surprise. Serena, who broke the news to her, expected grief and lamentations; instead Azuba was delighted.

“Well, now!” she exclaimed. “Ain't that fine! Ain't that splendid! I always wanted to go somewhere's besides Trumet, and now I'm goin'. I always told Labe, my husband, that if there was one thing I was jealous of him about 'twas travelin'. 'You go from Dan to Beersheby,' I says to him, 'any time you want to.' 'Yes,' says he—this was the last time he was to home, three years ago—'Yes,' he says, 'and when I don't want to, too.' 'And I,' I says, 'I have to say stuck here in Trumet like a post in a rail fence.' 'You look more like the rail, Zuby,' he says—he's always pokin' fun 'cause I ain't fleshy. 'Don't make no difference what I LOOK like,' I says, 'here I be and I ain't never been further than the Brockton cattle show since I was ten year old.' But now I'm goin' to travel at last. My! I'm so tickled I don't know what to do. I'll start in makin' my last fall's hat over this very night. Say, it's a good thing you've got me to help in the goin' and the settlin', ain't it, Sereny—Mrs. Dott, I mean.”

In the face of this superb confidence Serena, who had intended leaving Azuba behind, lacked the courage to mention the fact. And when she sought her husband in the store and asked him to do it, he flatly refused.

“What!” he said. “Tell Zuba Ginn we're goin' to cast her adrift! I should say not! Of course we can't do any such thing, Serena.”

“But what can we do with her, Daniel? We might leave her here to take care of the place, I suppose, but that would only be for a time, until we find somebody to buy it. Of course we can't run two places, and we'll have to sell this one some time or other.”

Daniel, to whom the idea of selling the home of which he had been so proud was unthinkable, ignored the question.

“You couldn't leave her here,” he declared. “She wouldn't stay. Zuba's queer—all her tribe are and always was—but she's nobody's fool. She'd know right off you were tryin' to get rid of her. No, it may be all right enough to leave Nate Bangs in charge of the store, because he'd like nothin' better, but you can't leave Zuba in the house.”

“Then what can we do with her?”

“Take her with us. She can do housekeepin' in Scarford same as she can here, can't she?”

“Take her with us! Why, Daniel Dott! the very idea! Think of Azuba in a place like that Scarford mansion! Think of her and that dignified, polite Hapgood man together! Think of it!”

The captain seemed to find the thought amusing.

“Say, that would be some fun, wouldn't it?” he chuckled. “I'd risk Zuba, though. He wouldn't do the Grand Panjandrum over her more'n once. I'd risk her to hold up her end.”

“What do you think the B. Phelps Blacks would say if they saw Azuba trotting through the grand front hall with her kitchen apron on?”

The mention of the name had an odd effect upon the captain. He straightened in his chair.

“I don't care what they say,” he declared. “I don't care what the Blacks would say, nor the Yellows nor the Blues either. If they don't like it they can stay in their own front halls and lock the door. Look here, Serena: Zuba Ginn has been with us ever since Gertie was born; she took care of her when she had the scarlet fever, set up nights and run the risk of catchin' it herself, and all that. The doctor told us that if it hadn't been for Zuba and her care and self-sacrifice and common sense Gertie would have died. She may be queer and hard to keep in her place, as you call it, and a regular walkin' talkin' machine, and all that. I don't say she ain't. What I do say is she's been good enough for us all these years and she's good enough for me now. She ain't got any folks; her husband is as queer as she is, and only shows up once in two or three years, when he happens to think of it. She ain't got any home but ours, and nobody else to turn to, and I won't cast her adrift just because I've got more money than I did have. I'd be ASHAMED to do it. No, sir! if Zuba Ginn wants to go to Scarford, along with us, she goes, or I don't go myself.”

He struck the desk a violent blow with his clenched fist. Serena regarded him with astonishment. It had been a long time since she had seen him like this, not since the old seafaring days.

“Why—why, Daniel,” she faltered, “I didn't mean to make you cross. I—I only thought.... Of course, she can go with us if you feel that way.”

“That's the way I feel,” said her husband shortly. Then, as if suddenly awakening and with a relapse into his usual manner, he added, “Was I cross? I'm real sorry, Serena. Say, don't you want some candy? Nathaniel's just openin' a new case from Boston. Hi, Sam! Sam! bring me a pound box of those Eureka chocolates, will you?”

Serena did not again suggest Azuba's remaining in Trumet. Neither she nor Captain Dan referred to the subject again. Mrs. Dott was, to tell the truth, just a bit frightened; she did not understand her husband's sudden outbreak of determination. And yet the explanation was simple enough. So long as he was the only sufferer, so long as only his own preferences and wishes were pushed aside for those of his wife or daughter, he was meekly passive or, at the most, but moderately rebellious; here, however, was an injustice—or what he considered an injustice—done to someone else, and he “put his foot down” for once, at least.

So, upon the fateful day when, preceded by a wagonload of trunks and bags and boxes, the Dotts once more drove through Scarford's streets to the mansion which was to be their home—permanently, according to Serena; temporarily, so her husband hoped—Azuba accompanied them. And Azuba was wildly excited and tirelessly voluble. Even Captain Dan, the long-suffering, grew weary of her exclamations and chatter at last.

“Say, Zuba,” he remonstrated, “is this an all-day service you're givin' us? If it is, I wish you'd take up a collection or somethin', for a change. Mrs. Dott and I are gettin' sort of tired of the sermon.”

“Why—why, what do you mean? I was only just sayin' I never see so many folks all at once since that time I was at the Brockton cattle show. I'll bet there's a million right on this street.”

“I'll take the bet. Now you start in and count 'em, and let's see who wins. Count 'em to yourself, that's all I ask.”

Azuba, with an indignant toss of the “made-over” hat, subsided for the time. But the sight of the Aunt Lavinia mansion, with Mr. Hapgood bowing a welcome from the steps, was too much for her.

“Oh!” she burst forth. “Oh! you don't mean to tell me THAT'S it! Why, it's perfectly grand! And—and there's the minister comin' to call already! Ain't it LOVELY!”

That night, as they sat down for the first meal in the new abode, a meal cooked by Azuba and served by the light-footed, soft-spoken, deft-handed Hapgood, Serena voiced the exultation she felt.

“There, Daniel,” she observed, beaming across the table at her husband, “now you begin to appreciate what it means, don't you. NOW you begin to see the difference.”

Captain Dan, glancing up at the obsequious Hapgood standing at his elbow, hesitated.

“Yes, sir?” said Mr. Hapgood anxiously. “What is it you wish, sir?”

“Nothin', nothin'. Why, yes, I tell you: You go out and—and buy me a cigar somewhere. Here's the money.”

“Cigar, sir? Yes, sir. What kind do you—”

“Any kind; only get it quick.”

Then, as the door closed behind the dignified Hapgood, he added:

“I've got three cigars in my pocket now, but that doesn't matter. I had to send him after somethin'! Say, Serena, is it real necessary to have that undertaker hangin' over us ALL the time? Every time he looks at me I feel as if he was takin' my measure. Has EVERY meal got to be a funeral?”

There was no doubt that the captain noticed the difference. He noticed it more the following day, and more still on each succeeding one.

The next evening the Blacks called—called in state. A note from Mrs. Black, arriving by the morning's post, announced their coming. Serena noted the Black stationery, its quality and the gilded monogram, and resolved to order a supply of her own immediately. Also she bade her husband don his newest and best. She did the same, and when Captain Dan, painfully conscious of a pair of tight shoes, entered the drawing-room he found her already there.

“My!” he exclaimed, regarding her with admiration, “you do look fine, Serena. Is that the one the Boston dressmaker made?”

“Yes. I'm glad you like it.”

“Couldn't help likin' it. I can't hardly realize it's my wife that's got it on. Walk around and let me take an observation. Whew! I always said you looked ten years younger than you are. THAT rig don't spell forty-five next January, Serena.”

Mrs. Dott sniffed.

“Don't remind me of my age, Daniel,” she protested. “It isn't necessary to tell everyone how old I am.”

“All right. Nobody'd guess it, anyhow. But how funny you walk. What makes you take such little short steps?”

“I can't help it. This dress—gown, I mean—is so tight I can hardly step at all.”

“Have to shake out a reef, won't you? How in the world did you get downstairs—hop?”

“Hush! Don't be foolish. The gown is no tighter than anyone else's. It's the style, Daniel, and you and I must get used to it. Are those your new shoes?”

“They certainly are. Do they look as new as they feel? I walk about the way you do, Serena. Bein' in style ain't all joy, is it?”

“It's better than being out of it. And, Daniel, please remember not to say 'ain't.' I've asked you so many times. We have our opportunity now and so must improve ourselves. You're not keeping store in the country any longer. You are a man of means, living among cultivated society people, and you must try to behave like the ladies and gentlemen you will be called upon to associate with.”

“Humph!” doubtfully. “I don't know as I could behave like a lady if I tried. As for the gentleman, if you mean Barney Black—”

“I mean B. Phelps Black. Don't you dare call him Barney to-night. If you do I shall be SO mortified. Hush! Here they are. Very well, Hapgood. You may show them in.”

Even Serena's new gown, fine as it was and proud as she had been of it, lost something of its glory and sank into a modest second place when Annette appeared. Mrs. Black had dressed for the occasion. Also, she had insisted upon her husband's dressing.

“What in blazes must I climb into a dress suit for?” demanded that gentleman grumpily. “Going to call on Dan Dott and his wife. You don't expect Dan to be wearing a dress suit, do you? He never wore one in his life.”

“It doesn't make any difference what he wears. I want you to go in evening dress.”

“But, confound it, Annette, we've been calling on those people all summer.”

“THAT was in the country; this is not. Don't you SEE, Phelps? Can't you understand? Those Dotts have come here to live. I did all I could to prevent it, but—”

“WHAT?” Mr. Black interrupted with an amazed protest. “Did all you could to prevent it! Why, you used to preach Scarford to Serena Dott from morning till night. You were always telling her how much better it was than Trumet. I don't believe she would ever have thought of coming here if it hadn't been for you.”

Annette stamped her foot impatiently. “Don't you suppose I know it?” she demanded. “That was when I never imagined there was any chance of their really coming. But now they have come and we've got to be with them to some extent. We've GOT to; we can't get out of it. That is why I want them to see how people of our class dress. I can't TELL her that her clothes are a sight, as country as a green pumpkin, but I can show her mine, and she's clever enough to understand. And you can show her husband. Not that that will do much good, I'm afraid. HE is the real dreadful part of the thing. Goodness knows what he may say or do at any time!”

Phelps grinned. Nevertheless, he donned the dress suit.

Mrs. Black had another reason, one which she did not mention, for making this, their first, call upon the Dotts in their new home a ceremonial occasion. It was true that they would be obliged to associate with these acquaintances from the country more or less; the commonest politeness required that, considering all that had gone before. But she meant there should be no misunderstanding of the relations between the families. In Trumet she had made Mrs. Dott her protegee because it was her nature to patronize, and Serena had not resented the patronage. Now circumstances were quite different; now the Dotts possessed quite as much worldly wealth as the Blacks, but Annette did not intend to let Serena presume upon that. No, indeed! She intended, not only by the grandeur of her raiment and that of her husband, but by her tone and manner, to make perfectly plain the fact that the acquaintanceship was still a great condescension on her part and did not imply equality in the least.

But this lofty attitude was destined to be shaken before the evening was over. The first shock came at the very beginning, and Mr. Hapgood was responsible for it. Annette had referred, during the Trumet acquaintanceship, to her “staff of servants,” and had spoken casually of her cook and second girl and laundress and “man,” as if the quartette were permanent fixtures in the Black establishment. As a matter of fact, the only fixtures were the cook and second girl. The laundress came in on Mondays and Tuesdays to do the washing and ironing, and the “man” acted as janitor's helper at the factory three days of the week. The chauffeur was but a summer flourish; B. Phelps drove his own car eight months in the year.

So when the door of the Dott mansion was opened by a butler—and such a dignified, polite, imposing butler—Mrs. Black's soul was shaken by a twinge of envy. The second shock was Serena's appearance and the calm graciousness of her demeanor. The Boston gown was not as grand, as prodigal of lace and embroidery, as was the visitor's, but it was in the latest fashion and Serena wore it as if she had been used to such creations all her life. Neither was she overawed or flurried when her callers entered. Serena had read a good deal, had observed as much as her limited opportunities would allow, and was naturally a clever woman in many ways.

“Why, how do you do, Mrs. Black?” she said. “It's so good of you to come. And to bring Mr. Black, too. You must take off your things. Yes, you must. Hapgood, take the lady's wraps. Daniel!”

The captain, who, not being used to butlers and lacking much of his wife's presence of mind, had started forward to assist with the wraps, stopped short.

“Yes, Serena?” he faltered.

“Can't you ask Mr. Black to sit down?”

“Hey? Why, course I can. I judged he was goin' to sit down anyway. Wasn't figgerin' to stand up all the evenin', was you, Bar—er—Phelps?”

“No,” replied Mr. Black. To prove it he selected the most comfortable chair in the room.

“I had such a time to get Phelps to come,” declared Annette, sinking, with a rustle, into the next best chair. “He wanted to see you both, of course, and to welcome you to Scarford, but he is SO busy and has so many engagements. If it isn't a directors' meeting it is a house committee at the club, or—or something. You should be thankful that your husband is not a man of affairs and constantly in demand. It was a club meeting to-night, wasn't it, Phelps, dear?”

“'Twas a stag dinner,” observed Mr. Black. “Say, Dan, I'll have to take you to one of 'em some time. It's a good bunch of fellows and we have some of the cleverest vaudeville stunts afterward that you ever saw. Last week there were a couple of coons that—”

“Phelps!” Annette interrupted tartly, “you needn't go into details. I don't imagine Captain and Mrs. Dott will be greatly interested. What a charming old room this is, isn't it? SO quaint! Everything looks as if it had been here a hundred years.”

Before Serena could frame a reply to this back-handed compliment the unconscious B. Phelps removed the greater part of its sting by observing:

“That butler of yours looks as if he had been here a thousand. I felt as if George the First was opening the door for me. He's a star, all right. Did he come with the place?”

Mrs. Dott explained that Hapgood was one of Aunt Lavinia's old servants. “She thought the world of him. Daniel and I feel perfectly safe in leaving everything to him. Auntie found him somewhere abroad—working for a lord or a count or something, I believe—and brought him over. He is pretty expensive, his wages, I mean, but he is worth it all. Don't you think so?”

Yes, Mrs. Black found it much more difficult to patronize than she expected, and Serena was correspondingly happy. But the crowning triumph came later. The doorbell rang, and Hapgood entered the drawing-room bearing a tray upon which were several cards. He bent and whispered respectfully.

Mrs. Dott was evidently surprised and startled.

“Who?” she asked.

Hapgood whispered again.

Serena rose. “Yes, of course,” she said nervously. “Yes, certainly. I declare, I—”

“What's up?” asked her husband, his curiosity aroused. “Nothin' wrong, is there? What's that he's bringin' you on that thing?”

He referred to the cards and the tray. His wife, who had caught a glimpse of Mrs. Black's face, fought down her nervousness and announced with dignified composure.

“Some more callers, that's all, Daniel,” she said. “Oh, you mustn't go, Mrs. Black. You know them, I'm sure. I've heard you speak of 'em—of them often. It's”—referring to the cards—“the Honorable Oscar Fenholtz and Mrs. Fenholtz. Ask them right in, Hapgood. Daniel, get up!”

Daniel hurriedly obeyed orders. Mr. Black also rose.

“The Fenholtzes!” he observed in a tone of surprise. “Say, Dan, I didn't know you knew them. Annette didn't say anything about it.”

Annette hadn't known of it; her expression showed that. The Honorable and Mrs. Fenholtz were Scarford's wealthiest citizens. Mr. Fenholtz was proprietor of a large brewery and was an ex-mayor. His wife was prominent socially; as prominent as Mrs. Black hoped to be some day.

Hapgood reappeared, ushering in the new arrivals. The Honorable Oscar was plump and florid and good-natured. He wore a business suit and his shoes were not patent leathers. Mrs. Fenholtz was likewise plump. Her gown, in comparison with Annette's, or even Serena's, was extremely plain and old-fashioned.

She hastened over to where Serena was standing and extended her hand.

“How do you do, Mrs. Dott?” she said pleasantly. “Welcome to Scarford. You and I have never met, of course, but I used to know Mrs. Lavinia Dott very well indeed. And this is Mr. Dott, I suppose. How do you do? And here is my husband. Oscar, these are our new neighbors.”

Mr. Fenholtz and the captain shook hands. Captain Dan felt his embarrassment disappearing under the influence of that hearty shake.

“I suppose you scarcely expected callers—or calls from strangers—so soon,” went on Mrs. Fenholtz. “But, you see, I hope we shan't be strangers after this. I couldn't bear to think of you all alone here in this great house in a strange place, and so I told Oscar that he and I must run in. We live near here, only on the next corner.”

“I said you would be having your after-dinner smoke, Mr. Dott,” explained the Honorable, with a smile and a Teutonic accent. “I said you would wish we was ouid instead of in; but Olga would not have it so. And, when the women say yes, we don't say no. Eh; what is the use?” He chuckled.

Captain Dan grinned. “That's right,” he said. “No use for the fo'mast hand to contradict the skipper.”

Mrs. Black stepped forward.

“How do you do, Mrs. Fenholtz?” she said with unction.

“Dear me!” exclaimed Serena. “I—I'm forgetting everything. But you know Mr. and Mrs. Black, don't you, Mrs. Fenholtz?”

Mrs. Fenholtz turned.

“How do you do, Mrs. Black?” she said. Her tone lacked the enthusiasm of Annette's.

“Hello, Black,” said her husband. “What are you doing here? I thought you would be at the club, listening to the—what is it?—the cabaret. Py George, my wife says I shall not go any more! She says it is no place for a settled man so old as I am. Ho! ho! Yet I tell her the stag dinner is good for the beer business.”

Before B. Phelps could answer, Mrs. Black spoke.

“He wanted to go, Mr. Fenholtz,” she declared. “But he felt, as I did, that our first duty was here. Captain and Mrs. Dott are old friends of ours. We meet them every year at the Cape; we have a summer home there, you know.”

Fenholtz seemed interested. “That is so,” he said. “I forgot. Dott, are you one of those Cape Cod skippers they tell me about? I am glad of it. I have got a boat myself down in Narragansett Bay. One of those gruisin' launches, they call them. But this one is like the women, it will gruise only where and when it wants to, and not where I want to at all. There is something the matter with the engine always. I have had egsperts—ah, those egsperts!—they are egsperts only in getting the money. When they are there it will go beautifully; but when they have left it will not go at all. I wish you could see it.”

Captain Dan was interested, too.

“Well,” he said, “I'd like to, first rate. I've got a boat of my own back home; that is, I used to have her. She was a twenty-five foot cat and she had a five-horsepower auxiliary in her. I had consider'ble experience with that engine. Course, I ain't what you'd call an expert.”

“I am glad of that. Now I will explain about this drouble of mine.”

He went on to explain. In five minutes he and the captain were head over heels in spark plugs and batteries and valves and cylinders. Mr. Black endeavored to help out with quotations from his experience as a motorist, but his suggestions, not being of a nautical nature, were ignored for the most part. After a time he lost interest and settled back in his chair.

Meanwhile the three ladies were engrossed in other matters. Mrs. Fenholtz asked to be shown the house; she had not seen it for a long time, she said, and was much interested. Annette suddenly remembered that, she also was “mad” to see it. So Serena led a tour of inspection, in which Mr. Hapgood officiated as assistant pilot and superintendent of lighting.

After the tour was at an end, and just before the party descended to the drawing-room, Mrs. Fenholtz turned to Serena and said:

“Mrs. Dott, are you interested in club matters; in women's clubs, I mean?”

Serena's answer was a prompt one.

“Indeed I am,” she said. “I have always been interested in them. In fact, I am president of the Trumet Chapter; that is, I was; of course, I resigned when I came here.”

Mrs. Fenholtz looked puzzled.

“Trumet Chapter?” she repeated.

“Why, yes, the Chapter of the Guild of the Ladies of Honor. The order Mrs. Black belongs to.”

“Oh!” in a slightly different tone. “Oh, yes, I see.”

“I'm terribly interested in THAT,” declared Serena enthusiastically. “If you knew the hours and hours I have put in working for the Guild. It is a splendid movement; don't you think so?”

“Why—why, I have no doubt it is. I don't belong to it myself. I was thinking of our local club, our Scarford women's club, when I spoke. I thought perhaps you might care to attend a meeting of that with me.”

“I should love—” began Serena, and stopped.

Mrs. Black, who was standing behind Mrs. Fenholtz, was shaking her head. The last-named lady noticed her hostess' hesitation.

“But of course,” she went on, “if you are interested in the Ladies of Honor you would no doubt prefer visiting a meeting of theirs. In that case Mrs. Black could help you more than I. She is vice-president of the Scarford Branch, I think. You are vice-president, aren't you, Mrs. Black?”

Annette colored slightly.

“Why—why, yes,” she admitted; “I am.”

Serena was surprised.

“Vice-president?” she repeated. “Vice-president—I—I—must have made a dreadful mistake. I introduced you as president at that Trumet meeting. I certainly thought you were president.”

Now, as a matter of fact, if Mrs. Black had not specifically said that she was president of the Scarford Chapter, she had led her acquaintances in Trumet to infer that she was; at all events, she had not corrected Serena's misapprehension on the night of the meeting. She hastened to do so now.

“Oh, no!” she said. “I noticed that you made a mistake when you introduced me, but, of course, I could hardly correct you publicly, and, when it was all over, I forgot. I am only vice-president, just as Mrs. Fenholtz says.”

Mrs. Fenholtz smiled. “Well, I am not even an officeholder in our club,” she said, “although I was at one time. I have no doubt you will prefer to be introduced by a vice-president rather than a mere member; and I am sure Mrs. Black is planning for you to attend one of the Guild meetings, so I mustn't interfere.”

Annette was visibly flurried. The Scarford Chapter was the one subject which she had carefully avoided that evening. But between it and the Woman's Club there was a bitter rivalry, and, although she had not been at all anxious to act as sponsor for her friend from the country, now that Mrs. Fenholtz had offered to do so and had placed the responsibility squarely on her shoulders, she could not dodge.

“Why—why, of course,” she said. “That was understood. We have had so many things to talk about this evening that I had really forgotten it, my dear Mrs. Dott. I had indeed! When,” she hesitated, “when could you make it convenient to attend one of our meetings? Of course I know how busy you are just now in your new home, and I shall not be unreasonable. I shouldn't, of course, expect you to attend the NEXT meeting.”

“Oh,” said the unconscious Serena, “I'm not so busy as all that. I could go to the next meeting just as well as not. I should love to.”

They entered the drawing-room, to find Captain Dan and the Honorable Oscar still deep in the engine discussion and Mr. Black sound asleep in his chair. Roused by his indignant wife, he drowsily inquired if it was time to get up, and then, becoming aware of the realities of the situation, hastily explained that he had been thinking about business affairs and had forgotten where he was.

“Going, Annette, are you?” he asked.

Annette tartly observed that she was going, and added that she judged it high time to do so. Mrs. Fenholtz said that she and her husband must be going, also.

“But we shall hope to see a great deal of you and Mr.—I should say Captain Dott,” she said. “You must dine with us very soon. I will set an evening and you mustn't say no.”

“That is right,” said Mr. Fenholtz heartily. “Captain, some of these days you and I will take a gouple of days and go down and look at that boat. If she does not go then, we will put an 'egspert' in her and sink them both. What?”

Altogether, it was a wonderful evening. The only fly in the ointment was Azuba, who appeared just as the visitors were at the door, to announce that “that foolhead of a grocer's boy” hadn't brought the things she ordered and what they was going to do for breakfast she didn't know.

“I could give you b'iled eggs,” she added, “but Captain Dan'l made such a fuss about them we had yesterday that I didn't dast to do it without askin' you. I wanted to have some picked-up fish, but they didn't keep none but the hashed-up kind that comes in pasteboard boxes, and I'd just as soon eat hay as that.”

On the way home Mrs. Black divided her discourse into two parts, one a scorching of her husband for falling asleep and making her ridiculous before the Fenholtzes, and the other a sort of irritated soliloquy concerning “those Dotts” and the way in which they had been loaded upon her shoulders.

“I did my best to keep the Guild out of the conversation,” she said, “but that Fenholtz woman had to drag it in, and now, of course, I've got to take that Dott person to the next meeting and introduce her to everybody, and I suppose I shall have to see that she is made a member. Oh, dear! I almost wish I had never seen Trumet.”

B. Phelps grunted. “Humph!” he said. “If the Fenholtzes take them up I don't see what you've got to kick about. You've been trying to get in the Fenholtz set yourself for the last three years. Maybe you can do it now.”