"Where to?" he asked sharply, suddenly rousing from his abstraction.
"I'm going on a yachting trip with Mary Louise and Colonel Hathaway. We're to be the guests of a Mr. Morrison and his wife, who own the yacht."
"Morrison? Morrison?" he repeated suspiciously. Then, as if relieved: "I don't know any Morrisons."
"Nor do I. They are old friends of the Hathaways and the Conants, however."
"Well, you can't go. It's nonsense."
"Why?"
"Yachts are dangerous. I don't want you drowned."
"I'd be as safe on a yacht as I would be in this house," she declared. "Do you think I intend to take any chances with my life? Please remember that when I'm eighteen I shall have a fortune and be able to lead an independent life—a pleasant life—a life in sharp contrast to this one. Therefore, I'm going to live to enjoy my money."
He gave her a shrewd look of approval. The argument seemed to appeal to him. It quieted, to an extent, his fears for her safety.
"Anyhow," said Alora bluntly, "I'm going, and I dare you to stop me."