“Yes. And beautiful hands—and the rest to match?”
“Yes—including a voice.”
“Yes. Let’s skip to the second evening, shall we, Mrs Pryce?”
“Will you be a little more imaginative and skip to the third afternoon?”
“The third afternoon be it. What’s happening when we begin the story again?”
“I’m in my mother’s state-room, getting a tremendous lecture. I’m not sure you ought to hear it.”
“Oh, I know all about it. You meant no harm, probably, but really it was time you learnt to be more careful. Attractive girls couldn’t be too careful. Men were so ready to think this and that—and say this and that—and then go and boast about it in the smoking-room. And what did you or your mother know about him? Nothing! Absolutely nothing! No doubt he was a gentleman, and very pleasant and amusing—but really you knew nothing. He was probably an adventurer. And anyhow—well, really it wasn’t quite—not quite—ladylike to—to——”
“Yes, that’s not a bad imagination,” interrupted Mrs Pryce. “Add mamma’s pince-nez, and it’s quite life-like.”
“And the result?”
“Great constraint in my manner towards Mr Walsh at dinner that evening.”