Mrs. Newnham's question broke into Jean's vision, and with a strong effort she recalled herself, looked up, and answered quietly—
"The loss of the 'Spanish Gipsy.'"
"Ah, yes, to be sure—on the way home from Australia. Very shocking, was it not? Poor things! I hope no friends of yours happened to be on board."
Jean was silent.
"Such a sad event! And I dare say many of them had been out for years. After a bad storm, was it not?"
"I—don't know."
"Yes; that was it. I remember. There have been so many casualties lately; but I remember. Another ship, the 'Shannon,' had been signalled, and was coming to their help, because the 'Spanish Gipsy' had been so much disabled. And all at once, it was seen to capsize and go down. Not a moment's warning, and not a person saved. The 'Shannon' was too far-off to get to the spot in time—though it does seem strange that none of the sailors should have been able to keep afloat. Those things do happen sometimes: but it is really very dreadful—quite terrible."
Jean could not talk of the horror which had fallen upon her. And the pitter-patter of conventional pity, looking blandly on from a comfortable distance, was only a degree less insupportable than the pitter-patter of conventional condolence would be.
She went back to the brief awful paragraph, which might mean so much to her. If they had started in the "Spanish Gipsy!" It all hinged there. One hand was put up to shield her face: and Mrs. Newnham, taking the hint, sank into silence.
Did the others know of this? Was it for this that Evelyn had hurried her away?