"I'm afraid we wouldn't have time for it," agreed Mary.
"Probably not, my dear. We'll do better. We'll invite her to sail with us on our yacht."
Mary groped her way out of the room.
The business of fleeing the city went surprisingly well, notwithstanding Aunt Caroline's obsession on the subject of Mrs. Rokeby-Jones. Bill consulted Pete Stearns, who numbered among his friends a marine architect. The marine architect believed that he knew the very boat they needed. She was not a steam-yacht; most of the steam-yachts, he pointed out, were too large for a small party and a lot of them were obsolete. What they wanted was a big cruiser with Diesel engines, that ran smoothly, noiselessly and never smokily.
So through the offices of the marine architect, who made a nice commission, of which he said nothing at all, Bill Marshall became charterer of the yacht Sunshine, an able yet luxurious craft, measuring some one hundred and twenty feet on the water-line, capable of all the speed that was required in the seven seas of society and sufficiently commodious in saloon and stateroom accommodations.
Mary Wayne was delighted. Any craft that would sail her away from New York City would have been a marine palace, in her eyes. She would have embarked on a railroad car-float, if necessary. There was a vast amount of shopping to be done, which also pleased Mary. Aunt Caroline insisted upon being absurdly liberal; she was in constant apprehension that the ladies of the party would not be properly arrayed for a nautical campaign. So Mary presently found herself the possessor of more summer gowns than she had ever dreamed of.
Even when it came to the business of seeing that Bill Marshall was adequately tailored for the sea Aunt Caroline proved prolific in ideas. Somehow, she acquired the notion that Bill would need a uniform; she pictured him standing on the bridge, with a spy-glass under his arm, or perhaps half-way up the shrouds, gazing out upon the far horizon; although there were no shrouds on the Sunshine, inasmuch as there were no masts. But Aunt Caroline did not know that. To her, Bill would not merely be the proprietor and chief passenger of this argosy, but the captain, as well.
Mary saved Bill from the uniform. She did it tactfully but firmly, after explaining to Aunt Caroline that only the hired persons on board would wear uniforms. Nevertheless, Aunt Caroline insisted on such a plethoric wardrobe for her nephew that for a time she even considered the advisability of an assistant valet. Pete fell in with that idea instantly, but again there was a veto from Mary. One valet was trouble enough, as she well knew.
When it came to the matter of Mrs. Rokeby-Jones, however, Mary was hard put for a suitable defense. Aunt Caroline mentioned the lady several times; she hoped that the negotiations were progressing favorably; in fact, she at last reached the point where she decided upon two additional evening gowns for herself, because she was certain that Mrs. Rokeby-Jones would come arrayed like the Queen of Sheba. Poor Aunt Caroline did not know that the Queen of Sheba, in these times, would look like a shoddy piker beside even the humblest manicure in New York.
Mary had consulted Bill about Mrs. Rokeby-Jones. She could not explain as fully as she would have liked just why it was impossible for her to transmit Aunt Caroline's invitation; but she did not need to. Bill was flatly against his aunt's scheme. He declared that he would back Mary to the uttermost limit of opposition.