To this the girl replied that she would trouble
her little, she was sure: she was convinced she should prove a wretched
sailor and spend the voyage on her back. Her mother scoffed at this
picture, prophesying perfect weather and a lovely time, and I interposed
to the effect that if I might be trusted, as a tame bachelor fairly sea-
seasoned, I should be delighted to give the new member of our party an
arm or any other countenance whenever she should require it. Both the
ladies thanked me for this--taking my professions with no sort of
abatement--and the elder one declared that we were evidently going to be
such a sociable group that it was too bad to have to stay at home. She
asked Mrs. Nettlepoint if there were any one else in our party, and when
our hostess mentioned her son--there was a chance of his embarking but
(wasn't it absurd?) he hadn't decided yet--she returned with
extraordinary candour: "Oh dear, I do hope he'll go: that would be so
lovely for Grace."
Somehow the words made me think of poor Mr. Porterfield's tartan,
especially as Jasper Nettlepoint strolled in again at that moment. His
mother at once challenged him: it was ten o'clock; had he by chance made
up his great mind? Apparently he failed to hear her, being in the first
place surprised at the strange ladies and then struck with the fact that
one of them wasn't strange.
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