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The result of their confession was that Burnett’s father, a jovial, peppery old gentleman—we all know the kind—lost his patience and wrote his son that he’d better not come home again that year. But Aunt Mary lost her temper much more completely and the result, as affecting Jack, was awful.
This action on the part of the head of the house being tantamount to the completest possible forgiveness and obliviousness of the past, Burnett’s mother, of whom the inquiry had been made, wept tears of sincerest joy and wrote to the youngest of her flock to return to the ancestral fold just as soon as he possibly could.
Some of the others were pretty girls and Burnett and two of his friends found plenty to amuse them, but Burnett’s dearest friend, his bosom friend, his Fidus Achates, found no one to amuse him, because he was in earnest, and had eyes for no feminine prettiness, his sight being dazzled by the radiance of one surpassing loveliness.
They began with Burnett’s dinner in the private room. No matter where the private room was, for it really wasn’t a private room at all—it was a suite of rooms borrowed and arranged especially for that one occasion.
The streets were a scene of glorious confusion, and but for Aunt Mary no considerations could have kept Burnett’s collarbone and Jack’s melancholia cooped up in a closed carriage. As it was, they were both fidgeting like two youthful Uncle Sams in a European railway coupe, when the latter suddenly exclaimed: "Here we are!" and threw open the door as he spoke.
"My heavens alive!" she sighed sweetly, "there’s nothin’ like home. Not anywhere—not nowhere!" The next date upon the little gold and ivory memorandum card which hung beside Aunt Mary’s watch was that set for Burnett’s picnic, but its dawning found both host and guest too much attached to their beds to desire any fêtes champêtre just then.
She’s one of those dead-at-the-gun chaps. I’m proud to think we have known the companionship of joint yachting results." "She says she feels as well as ever," said Janice, opening her eyes a trifle as she noted Burnett’s pink silk negligée, "and wishes to know when you want to start." "Bravo," said Mitchell; "I, too, am fired by this exposition of pluck. I like spirit.
"We’d ought to have the automobile for this party," said Aunt Mary, and everyone applauded her idea, as they rose and gathered up their belongings. It was a droll procession of men with mice and a lady with a parrot that got under way and moved in among the Japanese fans and swinging lanterns of the next room in the suite of Burnett’s friend.
"Burnett’s going to give us a dinner," Jack answered, "and then afterwards we’re going to help you see the town." "Oh!" said Aunt Mary. A pleasant gleam fled over her face. "I never was a great believer in bein’ out nights," she said, "but I guess I’ll make an exception to-morrow. I might as well be doin’ that as anythin’, I presume. Maybe better—very likely better."
"Is it?" he said, asking the question chiefly of her pretty eyes. "Is it honestly different now?" "I think it is," she answered. A door banged below. "That’s Burr!" he exclaimed, remembering suddenly the proximity of their chairs, and making haste to place himself farther away. Burnett’s step was heard on the stair. "You never said anything to him, did you?" she questioned quickly.
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