“Well, it’s quiet here, at any rate,” said Violet, as they gained her cabin, of which by favour she was to enjoy the sole possession. “Quiet, but not cool—ugh!” for the scuttle being shut, that peculiar close odour which seems inseparable from all ship cabins, and is in its insufferable fugginess suggestive of seasickness, struck them in full blast.
“I’m glad I’m not going with you,” said Mrs Aldridge. “I never could stand the sea. I declare I’m beginning to feel queer already.”
“Oh no. All imagination,” said Violet, gaily, flinging open the scuttle.
“And now, dear,” went on the old lady, “I suppose we haven’t many minutes more together. I needn’t tell you how glad I have been to have had you with me, and Chris. Selwood will like to know that I saw you off, bright and cheerful.”
Violet kissed her heartily. A strange compunction came over the girl. The old lady had been very kind to her during her brief stay. Mrs Aldridge was a relation of Selwood’s, and to her care Violet had been consigned for the few days during which the Siberian should be lying in Cape Town docks. Upon which good ship Selwood had safely conveyed her, having, at considerable inconvenience to himself, escorted her to Port Elizabeth, and seen the last of her safe on board.
“Oh, where is my brown hold-all?” cried Violet, suddenly looking round. “It contains all my wraps—sunshade—everything. Dear Mrs Aldridge, do wait here and mount guard over my things while I go up and find it. The stewards are so careless. Besides, they might put some one else in the cabin, and then it wouldn’t be so easy to get them out.”
As Violet gained the deck, the short sharp strokes of the ship’s bell rang out its warning summons. The “seeing-off” contingent must prepare to go ashore, unless it would risk an involuntary voyage. Mrs Aldridge, naturally prone to flurry, sitting there among Violet’s boxes and bundles, started at the sound.
“Oh dear! I shall be carried to sea!” she ejaculated, piteously. “Why doesn’t she come?”
Minutes slipped by, and still Violet did not appear. Again rang out the sharp imperative strokes of the bell.
“I must go and look for her,” cried the old lady, starting up with that intent. Peering wildly around she reached the deck. Still no sign of Violet.