Mrs. Peck talked to me--or tried to--of Mrs.
Nettlepoint, expatiating on the great interest it had been to see her;
only it was a pity she didn't seem more sociable. To this I made answer
that she was to be excused on the score of health.
"You don't mean to say she's sick on this pond?"
"No, she's unwell in another way."
"I guess I know the way!" Mrs. Peck laughed. And then she added: "I
suppose she came up to look after her pet."
"Her pet?" I set my face.
"Why Miss Mavis. We've talked enough about that."
"Quite enough. I don't know what that has had to do with it. Miss
Mavis, so far as I've noticed, hasn't been above today."
"Oh it goes on all the same."
"It goes on?"
"Well, it's too late."
"Too late?"
"Well, you'll see. There'll be a row."
This wasn't comforting, but I didn't repeat it on deck. Mrs. Nettlepoint
returned early to her cabin, professing herself infinitely spent. I
didn't know what "went on," but Grace Mavis continued not to show. I
looked in late, for a good-night to my friend, and learned from her that
the girl hadn't been to her. She had sent the stewardess to her room for
news, to see if she were ill and needed assistance, and the stewardess
had come back with mere mention of her not being there.
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