"It seems still from the southwest quarter," Kenneth told her.
"I hope you have brought a good appetite with you," said Gwen looking up from her array of sticks. "We are to have lobster Newburg, for Mr. Mitchell has produced a bottle of wine from some mysterious hoard. I hope you like lobster a la Newburg, Mr. Hilary?"
"I certainly do, and I promise to do full justice to it."
"Mr. Mitchell is an expert in cooking up chafing-dish things we find, so I am relieved from all responsibility, and if it isn't good you can blame him, not me," Gwen went on.
"I'm willing to accept all the burden of responsibility, for I never failed yet," remarked Mr. Mitchell complacently.
"In anything?" inquired Gwen.
"In few things," he returned. "If I want a thing badly enough I can generally find a way to get it."
"Lucky man!" cried Ethel. "I wish I could say the same. Now I am dying to row over to Jagged Island, but I have not yet found the man brave enough to take me."
Mr. Mitchell looked as if he did not know whether this were a temptation or an opportunity. "I should be delighted to take you in the motor boat," he said.
"That is too tame a proceeding," replied Ethel. "I have been in that way, if you remember. I am craving some excitement, a perilous adventure of some kind, something to make my pulses beat, and my hair stand on end."