"Oh, how stormy it looks over the sea!" she exclaimed. "And the waves are so big. There will be a great storm presently."
"Oh, I am sorry to hear that," said Miss Hollys, with a sigh; "I can't sleep when there is a storm. It makes me feel so nervous and weak."
"How would you like it, if you were on board a ship out in the midst of the storm?" returned Beryl, thinking that Lucy's remarks might be repeated to her aunt with advantage. "It will be far worse for the poor sailors than for you."
"I should not like it at all; it would kill me," said Aunt Cecilia.
"I wonder what it feels like to be drowned!" said Beryl, pursuing her own train of thought. "I don't think I should mind it much. There is nothing I like better than being in the water."
Aunt Cecilia had returned to her novel, and took no notice of this remark.
For want of anything better to do, Beryl was beginning to tease the poodle, when the welcome sound of wheels reached her ears, and with a cry of joy she rushed from the room, leaving the door wide open, to her aunt's discomfiture, as she ran into the hall to meet her father.
Mr. Hollys was a tall, brown-haired, brown-bearded man, not yet forty years of age. His countenance showed little trace of the sorrow which had darkened his early life. He had the air of a well-to-do English gentleman, who led an easy, comfortable life, carefully avoiding all unnecessary trouble and vexation.
"Well, Beryl, how are you?" he asked, as he took her in his arms. "Quite well? That's right. You look well enough. Why, how you have grown since Christmas, child! I declare you look nothing but legs and arms."
"I'm glad you think I've grown, papa," said Beryl, with pride; "I want to be very tall; as tall as you, papa."