“Oh, I see. It was a slip of the tongue.”
“Did you have a fine voyage, Aunt Sophie?”
“Splendid.”
“And you were not sea-sick?”
“Oh, yes, I was. For two days I was just as sick as if I had taken an old-fashioned dose of calomel and jalap. And I think it did me a heap of good, too, for after I got over it I was that hungry! Indeed, I was so hungry I was ashamed to eat as much as I wanted. And all the rest of the voyage I thought more of eating than of anything else in the world.”
“When did you reach Havre?”
“Yesterday; and it so happened as there was a train for Paris in an hour afterwards; so we took that train and came right on, and got here last night. We slept at that hotel, and, if you please to believe me, I had one of the goslings for a chamber-maid. I don’t like foreign ways, myself.”
“Never mind, dear; you will be more comfortable with us. But now tell me, Aunt Sophie, did you know that the señor was a near relation of mine?”
“What makes you call him the sinner, honey? He’s no more of a sinner than the rest of us, I reckon. We are all sinners, for that matter.”
“I said señor, Aunt Sophie, which is all the same as if I had said Sir or Mr.”