Her face broke into smiles as soon as she beheld me; and she invited me, in a way not to be resisted, so resolute and yet so kindly was it, to partake with her of the hot coffee her maid was just handing her in bed, in a small gilded cup, a portion of the service on the stand beside her.
"It is our Southern custom, you know, Miss Harz—always our café noir before breakfast, as a safeguard against malaria. To be sure, there is nothing of that sort to be apprehended at sea, but still habits are inveterate; second nature, as the moralists and copy-books say, as if there ever could be more than one. What nonsense these wiseacres talk, to be sure! But there is cream, you see, for those who like it—boiled down and bottled for the use of the children before leaving home—one of Dominica's notions;" and here the smiling maid, with her little, respectful courtesy, tendered me a reviving cup of Miss Lamarque's morning beverage, Mocha, made to the last point of perfection, dripped and filtered over a spirit-lamp by Dominica, the skillful and neat-handed.
"But you are very pale to-day, my child—what on earth can be the matter?—There, Dominica, I thought I heard Florry cry! Go and help Caliste get the children ready for a trot upon deck before breakfast, and don't forget to give each one a gill of cream and a biscuit—or, stay, twice as much for the two elder before they go up. It may be some time before they get their regular morning meal.—They have to wait, you know, Miss Harz, which is such rank injustice where children are concerned. Patience never belongs to unreasoning creatures, unless an instinct, as with animals; men have to learn its lessons through the teachings of experience—that strictest of school-masters. Now, you see, I have my lecturing-cap on, and am almost equal to you or Dr. Lardner in my way. But it takes you to define fascination! I suppose Mrs. Heavyside, however, could help you there—for nothing short of witchcraft could account to me for her elopement with that dreary man! To leave her sweet children, too, as if all the men on earth could be worth to a true mother her teething baby's little toe or finger!"
"Would she never stop—never give one loop-hole for doubt to enter?" I thought.
"But what in the world ails you—has Dunmore, the disconsolate, been making love again? Has Captain Falconer declared himself too soon? and do you hesitate, on account of Miss Moore? Don't let that consideration influence you, I beg, for she is the greatest flirt in Savannah, the truest to the vocation, and I like her for that, anyhow. Whatever a man or woman has to do, let him or her do earnestly. That isn't exactly Scripture, but near enough, don't you think so?" and she laughed merrily.
"I have been on deck this morning," I commenced, "Miss Lamarque, and saw Christian Garth, and—"
"He has been terrifying and electrifying you again with his tale of horrors—there, it is all out. Why, he is as sensational as 'Jane Eyre,' this new English novel I am just reading," drawing it from under her pillow and holding it aloft as she spoke. "Currer Bell is not more mysteriously awful, but Garth is not artistic. I detected his intention by the inconsistency of his expression of face, which bore no part in his narrative, and at once exposed him, you must remember—"
"Oh, yes—but this time—"
"Nonsense, Miriam Harz! the iceberg is gone, I know. Why, what a nervous coward you are, to be sure, with all that assumed bravery! I am twice as courageous, I do believe, despite appearances; I really begin to be of opinion that it is safer to be at sea than on land—now what do you think of that for a heterodoxy?—A second cup? why, of course, and a third, if you want it; I am delighted you like it. These little Sèvres toys are but thimbles, but I always carry them about with me by sea and land, and have for years; I feel as if there were luck in them, not one of the original three has been broken—there—there!—just as I was boasting, too!—never mind, such accidents will occur; but your pretty pongee dress is sadly stained with the coffee; besides, as you dropped the cup, it is your luck, not mine; and I want an odd saucer, anyhow, to feed Desirée out of; she sleeps in that willow basket you see in the corner of the state-room, Miss Harz, and is lazy, like her mistress, of mornings.—Desirée! Desirée! peep out, can't you, now you have your long-desired Sèvres saucer to lap milk from?—She won't touch delft, Miss Harz. She is the most fastidious little creature!"
"Alas! alas!" and I groaned aloud.