"'Rocked in the cradle of the deep,' eh? Want to go ashore this morning?"
"No, I think not. Mrs. Lowell is coming out for tea this afternoon, a little good-bye visit."
"All right, then. What do you say to some cribbage?"
"Fine, if we cannot be of any assistance to Mamma. Are you sure?"
"Yes, my love. She has been drinking heavily of 'the wine of astonishment' and must sleep it off. If there is any humble pie on board, you might have Léonie take her some for luncheon."
"What are you talking about, Daddy? Poor Mamma!"
"Yes, she is absolutely one of the finest. I thought so when she was eighteen, and cute, with a little turn-up nose and dimples something like that Veronica girl, and I think so now; but the best of women must sometimes lie by until they get a new perspective."
"Daddy, I don't understand you. You and Mamma have—have differed about something, I fear."
"Well, it—it might be described that way. Morris,"—turning toward his valet who was near,—"the cribbage-board, please."