“Forgive me, Tenny, old boy,” cried Clayton. “It certainly IS a corking idea—I never should have suspected you of it. You’re quite sure it’s original, are you?”
“And we’ll sail the first of the week, or any other time that suits your convenience, Mrs. Strong,” concluded the big-hearted Englishman, as though the thing were all arranged except the sailing date.
“Mercy, Lord Tennington, you haven’t even given us an opportunity to thank you, much less decide whether we shall be able to accept your generous invitation,” said Mrs. Strong.
“Why, of course you’ll come,” responded Tennington. “We’ll make as good time as any passenger boat, and you’ll be fully as comfortable; and, anyway, we all want you, and won’t take no for an answer.”
And so it was settled that they should sail the following Monday.
Two days out the girls were sitting in Hazel’s cabin, looking at some prints she had had finished in Cape Town. They represented all the pictures she had taken since she had left America, and the girls were both engrossed in them, Jane asking many questions, and Hazel keeping up a perfect torrent of comment and explanation of the various scenes and people.
“And here,” she said suddenly, “here’s a man you know. Poor fellow, I have so often intended asking you about him, but I never have been able to think of it when we were together.” She was holding the little print so that Jane did not see the face of the man it portrayed.
“His name was John Caldwell,” continued Hazel. “Do you recall him? He said that he met you in America. He is an Englishman.”
“I do not recollect the name,” replied Jane. “Let me see the picture.”
“The poor fellow was lost overboard on our trip down the coast,” she said, as she handed the print to Jane.