“You, Miss Lenora,” he said, “will please sit on my left, and you, Miss Laura, on my right. Mr. Quest, will you sit on the other side of Miss Laura, and Mr. Harris two places down on my left. There is an old lady who expects to be at the table, but the steward tells me she hasn’t been in yet.”
They settled down into the places arranged for them. Harris was looking a little glum. Lenora and Quest exchanged a meaning glance.
“I’m not sure that I appreciate this arrangement,” Harris whispered to his neighbour.
“You may be candid,” Lenora replied, “but you aren’t very polite, are you?”
Harris almost blushed as he realized his slip.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but to tell you the truth,” he added, glancing towards Quest, “I fancied that you were feeling about the same.”
“We women are poor dissemblers,” Lenora murmured. “Do look how angry this old woman seems.”
An elderly lady, dressed in somewhat oppressive black, with a big cameo brooch at her throat and a black satin bag in her hand, was being shown by the steward to a seat by Quest’s side. She acknowledged the Captain’s greeting acidly.
“Good evening, Captain,” she said. “I understood from the second steward that the seat on your right hand would be reserved for me. I am Mrs. Foston Rowe.”
The Captain received the announcement calmly.