Mrs. Gainsborough was very much upset at the prospect of the girls’ going away.
“That comes of having me picture painted. I felt it was unlucky when he was doing it. Oh, dearie me! whatever shall I do?”
“Come with us,” Sylvia suggested. “We’re going to France. Lock up your house, give the key to the copper on the beat, put on your gingham gown, and come with us, you old sea-elephant.”
“Come with you?” Mrs. Gainsborough gasped. “But there, why shouldn’t I?”
“No reason at all.”
“Why, then I will. I believe the captain would have liked me to get a bit of a blow.”
“Anything to declare?” the customs official asked at Boulogne.
“I declare I’m enjoying myself,” said Mrs. Gainsborough, looking round her and beaming at France.
CHAPTER X
WHEN she once more landed on French soil, Sylvia, actuated by a classic piety, desired to visit her mother’s grave. She would have preferred to go to Lille by herself, for she lacked the showman’s instinct; but her companions were so horrified at the notion of being left to themselves in Paris until she rejoined them, that in the end she had to take them with her.