‘Especially as mamma never allows me to go anywhere without herself. Was it about the superabundance of chaperons that you knew we should attack you?’
Rosie Verschoyle asked the question in her gay, thin little voice, her unpremeditated manner, yet with a directness of aim that poor Lord Rex had not the cleverness to parry.
‘Attack me? Why, that was only a foolish joke, don’t you know! Yes, we—we have Mrs. Verschoyle and the Archdeaconess as chaperons-in-chief. Only, poor Mrs. Verschoyle, the moment the Princess moves, will be in the cabin, and the Archdeaconess——’
‘Try not to look so conscious. The Archdeaconess?’
‘If the wind veers between this and Wednesday, will not start at all. And so, as we must have a married lady to do hostess for us, and as you, Mrs. Thorne, are also not a first-rate sailor, I have asked Mrs. Arbuthnot.’
A heavy silence followed upon this announcement. Linda Thorne was the first to break it.
‘And Mrs. Arbuthnot has accepted? I need hardly ask the question.’
‘Yes,’ returned Lord Rex, staunchly enough, ‘I am glad to say that Mrs. Arbuthnot has accepted.’
Rosie Verschoyle turned over and examined a band of silver on her round white wrist.