unctory greeting, her mother remarked:

"You've made a nice record for yourself, haven't you?"

Isabelle made no reply.

"Why don't you answer me?"

"Foolish question, Number One. Yes, I have made a nice record for
myself."

"If you make yourself a nuisance around here, I shall find a way to
punish you," she threatened her.

"Go ahead. Get it all off your chest at once and then drop it."

Mrs. Bryce decided upon injured dignity, as her best role.

"Where's Wally?" demanded Isabelle.

"I don't know."

"What's doing around here? I expect to enjoy myself on this little
vacation. I hope you don't intend to be too disagreeable."

Later at dinner Wally remarked to his wife--

"Tell her about the trip?"

"No."

"What trip?" demanded their daughter.

"We are going off on the Abercrombie Brendons' yacht, and your
unfortunate return has forced Mrs. Brendon to include you in the party."

"I hope you said 'No, thanks' for me."

"We said 'yes' for you," replied Wally.

"But I won't go. Shut up on a boat with you two and the Brendons? Not
much."

"You're not being consulted," remarked her mother, coolly.

"You'll have to drag me aboard."

Mrs. Bryce's temper flared.

"You will walk aboard and you will behave like a decent individual while
we are on this cruise, or there will be the most serious consequences
you have ever met yet. Nobody wants you on this party, you understand,
and the less conspicuous you make yourself, the better."

Isabelle beamed upon them.

"Thank you so much for your charming invitation, my dear, doting
parents. I accept with pleasure, and I think I can promise you that your
little outing will be a complete success, so far as I am concerned."

She laughed lightly, and Mr. and Mrs. Bryce exchanged uneasy glances.
Something in that laugh did not promise well for their holiday.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The motor boat from the _Empress_ was at the pier when the three Bryces
made their appearance on the day of the departure. They were taken out
to the yacht at once, where Mr. Abercrombie Brendon was already
ensconced. He was a pompous, red-faced little man, with a great deal of
stomach and a great deal of manner. He was in high good humour with the
weather and the world in general. He greeted Isabelle by singing, a line
from a light opera success of his younger days--

"Isabella, Isabella, the love-e-ly queen of Spain."

"Silly ass!" said she to hers