"Not at all," said Beatrice kindly but firmly. "And now if you don't mind, Aunt Cecilia, I think I'll go up and get ready for luncheon."
But Aunt Cecilia was afraid she had gone too far.
A week later came the gathering of the clans at New London for the Yale-Harvard boat-race. Aunt Cecilia had not been to a race in years. Races, you see, were not in a class with graduations; they were optional, works of supererogation. But this year, in addition to one of the largest yachts extant and money that fairly groaned to be put into circulation, she had two boys in college, and altogether it seemed worth while "making an effort." And the effort once made there was a certain pleasure in doing the thing really well, in taking one's place as one of the great Yale families of the country. So on the afternoon before the race the Halcyone was anchored in a conspicuous place in the harbor, where she loomed large and majestic among the smaller craft, and a tremendous blue flag with a white Y on it was hoisted between two of the masts. People from the shore looked for her name with field glasses and pointed her out to each other as "the Wimbourne yacht" with a note of awe in their voices.
"It's like being on the Victory at Trafalgar, as far as conspicuousness goes," said Harry on his arrival. "Or rather," he added magnificently, "like being on Cleopatra's galley at Actium."
"Absit omen," remarked Uncle James, and the others laughed, but his wife paid no attention to him. She was not above a little thrill of pride and pleasure herself.
Muffins and Jack and their friends were much in evidence; the party was primarily for the "young people." They kept mostly to themselves, dancing and singing and making personal remarks together, always detaching themselves with a polite attentive quirk of the head when an older person addressed them. Nice children, all of them. Muffins and Jack were of the right sort, emphatically, and their friends were obviously—not too obviously, but just obviously enough—chosen with nice discriminating taste. Jack especially gave one the impression of having a fine appreciation of people and things; that of Muffins was based on rather broad athletic lines. Muffins played football. Ruth, the brains of the family, was not present; we forget whether she was running a summer camp for cash girls or exploring the headwaters of the Yukon; it was something modern and expensive. Ruth was not extensively missed by her brothers.
They all dined hilariously together on the yacht and repaired to the Griswold afterward to dance and revel through the evening. All, that is, except Beatrice and James; they did not arrive till well on in the evening, James having been unable to leave town till his day's work was over. The launch with Uncle James in it went to the station to meet them and brought them directly back to the yacht to get settled and tidied up; they could go on over to the Griswold for a bit, if they weren't too tired.
"How about it?" inquired James as he stood peering at his watch in the dim light on deck.
"Oh, just as you like," said Beatrice.