Almost in complete silence they went to The Laurels. Mittie's repeated
attempts at conversation died, each in succession, a natural death.
When Mary Ferris appeared, surprise was again shown at the sight of
Mittie alone. Mary Ferris did not take it so quietly as her brother had
done. She was naturally blunt, and she put one or two awkward questions
which Mittie found it not easy to evade.
The hour on that lovely river, to which she had looked forward as
delightful, proved dull.
Fred Ferris had nothing to say; he could not get over this seeming snub
from Joan. He attended silently to his oars, and somehow Mittie had not
courage to suggest that she would very much like to handle one of them.
Mary was politely kind, and talked in an intermittent fashion; but the
"fun" on which Mittie had counted was non-existent.
When they reached the landing-place and stepped out Mrs. Ferris stood on
the bank, awaiting them. And Mrs. Ferris, though able, when she chose,
to make herself extremely charming, was a very outspoken lady.
There was no mistake about her astonishment. Her eyebrows went up, and
her eyes ran questioningly over the white-frocked figure.
"What, only Mittie! How is this? Where is Joan?"
Mittie felt rather small, but she was not going to admit that she had
been in the wrong.
"Joan wouldn't come," she said, smiling.
"Is she not well?"
"Oh yes; quite well.
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