"Veronica!" Miss Priscilla gave the girl a warning wink and motioned with her hand toward the sink where Genevieve, her hair in a tight braid and her slender figure attired in a scanty calico frock, was looking over the bib of an apron much too large for her, and washing the breakfast dishes.
"Excuse me," said Veronica demurely. "I meant to say Mr. Gayne. Genevieve, you must never call Mr. Gayne 'Old Nick.' Do you hear?"
"Veronica!" pleaded Miss Burridge.
"Oh, we all know Mr. Gayne," said Genevieve, in her piercing, high voice which always seemed designed to be heard through the tumult of a storm at sea.
"He has been here before, then?" asked Miss Burridge.
"Pretty near all last summer. He comes to paint, you know."
"No, I didn't know he was an artist."
"Oh, yes, he paints somethin' grand, but I never saw any of his pitchers."
"Was his nephew with him last summer?"