Chapter XIX

Coming aboard Ned Paxton’s boat had set old memories twanging unbearably. Even if Tubby Grant’s argument had seemed water-tight, she should not have stepped foot on it, Janice reflected uneasily, as, back to the rail, she regarded the group under the awning of the deck lounge of the Modern Mariner. Mary Samp’s eyes were big with wonder, her cheeks pink as Delicious apples, partly from excitement, partly from heat generated by the heavy drab woolen dress and thick shoes which were Miss Martha’s conception of the pro…