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“But we’re not having a nice time, here at this noisy hotel, Uncle Hutchinson, where the band can’t keep quiet for half an hour at a time, and where the only notion that people seem to have of amusement is to overdress themselves and wear diamonds to dinner and sit in crowds on the verandas and dance at night with any stranger who can get another stranger to introduce him and to drive over on fine afternoons to that place by the lake and drink mixed drinks until some of them actually get tipsy. I really think that it all is positively horrid. And so I’m quite willing now to go to the White Sulphur. It is stupid, I know, but I’ve always heard that it is intensely respectable. I will get my packing all done this afternoon, and we will start to-morrow morning; and I think that you’d better go and telegraph for rooms right away.”

But to Dorothy’s surprise, and also to her chagrin, Mr. Port refused to entertain her proposition. He fully agreed with her in her derogatory estimate of Saratoga life as found at Saratoga hotels; and he cherished also a private grief incident to his (mistaken) belief that the cooking was not so good as he remembered it, bright in the glamour of his sound digestion in his youthful past. On the other hand, however, the waters certainly were having a most salutary effect upon his liver; and the move to Virginia would involve spending two days of hot weather in toilsome travel, sustained only by such food as railway restaurants afford. Therefore Mr. Port declared decidedly that until the end of July they would remain where they were–and so gave his niece the doubtful pleasure of an entirely new experience by compelling her to do something that she did not want to do at all. It was a comfort to Mr. Port, in later years, to remember that he had got ahead of Dorothy once, anyhow.

Being a very charming young person, Miss Lee could not, of course, be grumpy; yet grumpiness certainly would have been the proper word with which to describe her mood during her last fortnight at Saratoga had she not possessed such extraordinarily fine gray eyes and such an admirably dimpled chin. The fact must be admitted that she contrived to make her uncle’s life so much of a burden to him that his staying powers were strained to the utmost Indeed, he admitted to himself that he could not have held out against such tactics for another week; and he perceived that he had done injustice to his departed sister in thinking–as he certainly had thought, and even had expressed on more than one occasion in writing–that in permitting her European movements to be shaped in accordance with her daughter’s fancies she had exhibited an inexcusable weakness.

It was a relief to Mr. Port’s mind, and also to his digestion–for Dorothy’s grumpiness produced an effect distinctly bilious–when the end of July arrived and his own and his charming ward’s views once more were brought into harmony by the move to Narragansett Pier. Fortunately, while somewhat disposed to stand upon her own rights, Miss Lee was not a person who bore malice; a pleasing fact that became manifest on the moment that she began to pack her trunks.

“I am afraid, Uncle Hutchinson,” she observed, on the morning that this important step towards departure was taken–“I am afraid that during the past week or so your angel may not have been quite as much of an angel as usual.”

“No,” replied Mr. Port, with a colloquial disregard of grammatical construction, and with perhaps unnecessary emphasis, “I don’t think she has.”

“But from this moment onward,” Dorothy continued, courteously ignoring her uncle’s not too courteous interpolation, and airily relegating into oblivion the recent past, “she expects to manifest her angelic qualities to an extent that will make her appear unfit for earth. Very possibly she may even grow a pair of wings and fly quite away from you, sir–right up among the clouds, where the other angels are! And how would you like that, Uncle Hutchinson?”