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Bettina stood by while we unbuckled and lifted down our traveling trunk. She did not speak a word, beyond asking if we wouldn’t wait until the gardener came. On Tish’s saying she had no time to wait, because she wanted to put kerosene in the cylinders before the engine cooled, Bettina lapsed into silence and stood by watching us.

Bettina took us upstairs. She had put Drummond’s “Natural Law in the Spiritual World” on my table and a couch was ready with pillows and a knitted slumber robe. Very gently she helped us out of our veils and dusters and closed the windows for fear of drafts.

“Dear mother is so reckless of drafts,” she remarked. “Are you sure you won’t have tea?”

“We had some blackberry cordial with us,” Aggie said, “and we all had a little on the way. We had to change a tire and it made us thirsty.”

“Change a tire!”

Aggie had taken off her bonnet and was pinning on the small lace cap she wears, away from home, to hide where her hair is growing thin. In her cap Aggie is a sweet-faced woman of almost fifty, rather ethereal. She pinned on her cap and pulled her crimps down over her forehead.

“Yes,” she observed. “A bridge went down with us and one of the nails spoiled a new tire. I told Miss Carberry the bridge was unsafe, but she thought, by taking it very fast–“

Bettina went over to Aggie and clutched her arm. “Do you mean to say,” she quavered, “that you three women went through a bridge–“

“It was a small bridge,” I put in, to relieve her mind; “and only a foot or two of water below. If only the man had not been so disagreeable–“

“Oh,” she said, relieved, “you had a man with you!”

“We never take a man with us,” Aggie said with dignity. “This one was fishing under the bridge and he was most ungentlemanly. Quite refused to help, and tried to get the license number so he could sue us.”

“Sue you!”

“He claimed his arm was broken, but I distinctly saw him move it.” Aggie, having adjusted her cap, was looking at it in the mirror. “But dear Tish thinks of everything. She had taken off the license plates.”

Bettina had gone really pale. She seemed at a loss, and impatient at herself for being so. “You–you won’t have tea?” she asked.

“No, thank you.”

“Would you–perhaps you would prefer whiskey and soda.”

Aggie turned on her a reproachful eye. “My dear girl,” she said, “with the exception of a little home-made wine used medicinally we drink nothing. I am the secretary of the Woman’s Prohibition Party.”

Bettina left us shortly after that to arrange for putting up Letitia and Aggie. She gave them her mother’s room, and whatever impulse she may have had to put the Presbyterian Psalter by the bed, she restrained it. By midnight Drummond’s “Natural Law” had disappeared from my table and a novel had taken its place. But Bettina had not lost her air of bewilderment.

That first evening was very quiet. A young man in white flannels called, and he and Letitia spent a delightful evening on the porch talking spark-plugs and carbureters. Bettina sat in a corner and looked at the moon. Spoken to, she replied in monosyllables in a carefully sweet tone. The young man’s name was Jasper McCutcheon.

It developed that Jasper owned an old racing-car which he kept in the Bailey garage, and he and Tish went out to look it over. They very politely asked us all to go along, but Bettina refusing, Aggie and I sat with her and looked at the moon.

Aggie in her capacity as chaperon, or as one of an association of chaperons, used the opportunity to examine Bettina on the subject of Jasper.

“He seems a nice boy,” she remarked. Aggie’s idea of a nice boy is one who in summer wears fresh flannels outside, in winter less conspicuously. “Does he live near?”