There was a great clatter of greetings.
“Come here, Isabelle, and make your manners,” ordered her mother. She obeyed, reluctantly.
“So glad to have a young thing with us, my dear,” boomed Mrs. Brendon in her big voice. “Althea, this is Isabelle Bryce. Miss Morton, Isabelle.”
The lovely vision smiled faintly and nodded.
“This is Mr. Jerry Paxton,” Mrs. Brendon continued.
Isabelle shot a glance at him, but he failed to get it.
“How do you do?” he said, absently, turning to help Althea adjust her veil.
There followed the ceremony of apportioning the staterooms, getting into deck hats, and the other preliminaries, while the boat was steaming down the harbour. Isabelle stayed on deck and made friends with the captain and the sailors. It was fun to watch them padding about so swiftly, coiling ropes, and doing their tasks so featly.
The first few days were clear and beautiful. They spent the time on deck. Isabelle appraised the situation the first day out. Mrs. Brendon intended that the handsome Paxton man should be permanently annexed to the blonde beauty, who entirely concurred in the idea. The Paxton man was not yet entirely won over to the plan; therefore, he was restless and on his guard. Max flirted with old Brendon, and Wally was at loose ends. He occasionally donated his society to his daughter.