Her delicious cheeks were now a delicate crimson. But they had been of a delicate crimson throughout.
“No,” said Audrey. “You’re in ours. Which is yours?”
“It’s on the other side of the ship, then. I came out for a little air. But I couldn’t get back. I’d just as lief have died as shift from that seat out there by the railings.”
Something in the accent, something in those fine English words “lief” and “shift,” destroyed in the minds of Audrey and Miss Ingate the agreeable notion that they had a peeress on their hands.
“Is your husband on board?” asked Audrey.
“He just is,” was the answer. “He’s in our cabin.”
“Shall I fetch him?” Miss Ingate suggested. The corners of her lips had begun to fall once more.
“Will you?” said the young woman. “It’s Lord Southminster. I’m Lady Southminster.”
The two saviours were thrilled. Each felt that she had misinterpreted the accent, and that probably peeresses did habitually use such words as “lief” and “shift.” The corners of Miss Ingate’s lips rose to their proper position.
“I’ll look for the number on the cabin list,” said she hastily, and went forth with trembling to summon the peer.