"It amuses me to be a brat," she retorted. "It amuses Jerry, too."
"It amuses nobody," said her mother.
"Jerry, à moi; au secours! Take your dying pet away before she's stepped on. The Wallys are hungry for cricket blood!" she cried, dragging Jerry up from a seat where Althea had him safely cornered.
"Look here, kid, you've got to behave or they'll send you home," he said, marching her off forward.
"You're handsome when you're cross, Jerry. I adore you cross."
"Do you want to go home?"
"You're only cross because I made you ridiculous by dragging you away. You ought to be glad I saved you from Althea, the beautiful wax doll. Has she any works, Jerry? When I punch her she says 'Papa! Mama!' just like the other dolls."
"That will do. We will not discuss the other guests in this party," sternly.
"Don't expect me to have manners. I hate them."
"You rather bore me this morning," he remarked, and left her. She sulked the rest of the day, and waited her chance. The night was perfect, warm, with a full moon. Mrs. Brendon managed to get Althea and Jerry on the upper deck alone, while she guarded the others elsewhere. Isabelle had gone to bed with a headache, to every one's delight.