Peck looked round our little
circle with a smile of intelligence--she had familiar communicative eyes.
Several of our company had assembled, according to the wont, the last
thing in the evening, of those who are cheerful at sea, for the
consumption of grilled sardines and devilled bones.
"What then does she know?"
"Oh she knows _I_ know."
"Well, we know what Mrs. Peck knows," one of the ladies of the group
observed to me with an air of privilege.
"Well, you wouldn't know if I hadn't told you--from the way she acts,"
said our friend with a laugh of small charm.
"She's going out to a gentleman who lives over there--he's waiting there
to marry her," the other lady went on, in the tone of authentic
information. I remember that her name was Mrs. Gotch and that her mouth
looked always as if she were whistling.
"Oh he knows--I've told him," said Mrs. Peck.
"Well, I presume every one knows," Mrs. Gotch contributed.
"Dear madam, is it every one's business?" I asked.
"Why, don't you think it's a peculiar way to act?"--and Mrs. Gotch was
evidently surprised at my little protest.
"Why it's right there--straight in front of you, like a play at the
theatre--as if you had paid to see it," said Mrs. Peck. "If you don't
call it public!"
"Aren't you mixing things up? What do you call public?"
"Why the way they go on.
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