CHAPTER II
FATHER AND DAUGHTER
Jennie slept late that morning, and was finally awakened by the cessation of the motion to which she had been accustomed day and night for the last nine days.
She started up and looked out.
The ship was at anchor in the fine cove of Cork, and the window of her stateroom commanded the harbor. She knew there was a crowd of people on deck, but she felt no disposition to join them; so after she had washed and dressed her child and herself she sat down and waited until the kind stewardess brought her some breakfast.
“Well, here we are at Queenstown,” said the good woman, as she set down the breakfast tray.
“Thank you for bringing my breakfast, Mrs. Hopkins. How long will we remain here?” inquired Jennie.
“Only a few hours. The bride and groom—Mr. and Mrs. Randolph Hay, you know—have got off. I know they took their tickets for Liverpool, and here they have got off at Queenstown. Now they will go to London by way of Holyhead.”
“Ah,” said Jennie, only because she felt that she must say something.
“Very queer, I call it, for gentlemen and ladies to sacrifice their passage money in that way. But when people have more money than they know what to do with they do fling a good deal away, that’s certain.”
Jennie began to drink her coffee to avoid the necessity of speaking. She did not think it was queer that the pair should have left the steamer at Queenstown, for she understood very well that Kightly Montgomery dared not face her father at Liverpool.