The day came for the sailing of Aunt Caroline's armada. The Sunshine lay at anchor in the Hudson. From early morning a launch had been making steady trips from wharf to yacht, carrying trunks, boxes, grips, hampers, and packages. A superficial observer would have been justified in assuming that the Sunshine was documented for the Philippines, or some equally distant haven. All of Aunt Caroline's new gowns, all of Mary's, all of Bill's wardrobe, all of Pete's, and many other things that might prove of service in an emergency went aboard the Sunshine.
At the last moment there was great difficulty in persuading Aunt Caroline to leave the house. There had been no word from Mrs. Rokeby-Jones, and the good lady who was determined to be her hostess insisted that she would not depart without her. Bill fumed; Mary twisted her handkerchief. Aunt Caroline was displaying stubborn symptoms.
"Madam, I telephoned myself, only half an hour ago," said Pete. "She was not at home."
"She's probably on her way to the yacht," said Bill, with a glance at Mary.
"We'll wait a while and telephone again," announced Aunt Caroline.
"But if she's on her way," said Mary, "wouldn't it be better for you to be there to receive her?"
Aunt Caroline hesitated. It was Pete who saved the day.
"If I may make bold to suggest, Miss Marshall, you could go to the yacht at once. If Mrs. Rokeby-Jones has not arrived you could then telephone from the boat."
Mary turned away and stuffed her handkerchief into her mouth. Bill went out into the hall to see if the taxis had arrived.