Those three
emigrant girls in this cabin--my dear, they are absolutely _coarse_! You
should see their underclothes! Look, Marcella--I'm going to call you
Marcella, you are so sweet. Look at that nightgown on the top bunk.
_Pink flannelette_! And I hate to share my cabin with them! They've gone
on deck now for the day. I told them I simply must be alone."
"Aren't you going to have any breakfast?" asked Marcella. "I'll make you
some tea if you like." She and Louis had bought a teapot at Gibraltar,
solemnly paying half each and sharing the responsibility for the
sacrifice of the other one.
"No, I don't think I could drink tea. What do you think I could have?
You know, my dear, it was champagne that upset me like this! Mistah
Petahs and I had a small bottle last night and it brought everything
back."
She began to wipe a plaintive eye on her small handkerchief.
"The day I married my dear George--the father of my darlings--we had
champagne. It always brings it all back to me."
"But--tea makes headaches better."
"Not mine." Mrs. Hetherington knitted her white brows and looked
immensely interested.
"I think if you were to see dear Mistah Petahs and ask him to come along
the alley-way and speak to me. He is so gentle, so sympathetic, he might
suggest something, dear."
"Um," said Marcella, thinking of Jimmy.
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