The booking of the passage had caused considerable discussion. Aunt
Janet had written to the shipping company asking them to reserve a
saloon berth by the first mail-boat after a certain date. That it took
nearly all the money she had or was likely to have, as far as she could
see, for the rest of her days, did not trouble her in the least. She
could live on nothing, she told herself--and it was absolutely necessary
that Andrew's child should go away, even though she was going to seek
the once-refused charity of a relative, with the maximum of dignity and
with flags flying. But the doctor had a talk with her about it. He had
had three trips as ship's doctor to Australia on P. and O. steamers, and
his imagination reeled at the prospect of Marcella in the average saloon
on a long-distance liner.
"You see," he said, trying hard to be tactful, "if Marcella travels
first class she'll need many clothes. There are no laundries on most of
these ships, and it's a six weeks' trip. In the tropics you need to be
changing all day if you care a brass farthing for your appearance." He
did not tell her that Marcella's frankness and her lack of conventional
training would ostracize her among the first-class passengers, half of
whom were Government officials and the like going out to Australia or
India, while the rest were self-made Australians going back home after
expensive visits to the Old Country.
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