'Then mother and I would steal the captain's gig and row home by ourselves,' Challis said with a little shy roguery that dimpled her mouth, and made you think she was pretty after all.
'I never loved a dear gazelle,' said the captain, 'but I had to land it days before I should have had to, if it had only been a tiresome elephant. My dear little fairy-fingers, I have to give you up two days before the time. This will be the quickest run I've made this year.'
The glad colour leapt all over the girl's face. 'Oh-h-h!' she cried, and broke away from them, and went bounding back along the deck to her mother, just as any of the children might have gone.
The delightful news necessitated giving all the rest of the morning up to happy chat. They drew their chairs close up together, sheltered from over-much observation by the angle of the deck-house. Mrs. Cameron had no more headache, Treasure Island fell flat and forgotten on the deck.'
'NOW LET'S JUST GO OVER IT ALL AGAIN,' SAID CHALLIS.
'Now let's just go over it all again,' said Challis. 'Father'll come first. I don't want to kiss any one till I have kissed him. Well, what's he like? No, don't you say, I'll say. He'll have a moustache—no, I think he'll have a beard—yes, a beard. Not a long one, just a short one, and rather curly. And his eyes have a nice laughing look in them, just the nice look like M'sieu de Briot's, who said there was nothing in the world worth worrying about. You said, didn't you? that daddy hated worrying over things. I can't help thinking he'll have a brown velveteen jacket when he comes to meet us, like Mr. Menel's, at Fontainebleau, and paint all over it. But of course he won't. Let's see, he'll have a grey suit and a shiny hat, like Mr. Warner. No, he mustn't have that—that's not like daddie at all. No, I'll tell you; it's very hot at Wilgandra, so he'll have a nice white linen suit and a white helmet, and he might—he might be holding up a big white umbrella lined with green—you know, mamma, like that nice man who came on board at Malta.'
Mrs. Cameron was leaning back, her eyes shining, a fond smile on her lips as she listened to the girl's prattle.
'Then there'll be Hermie, and I know she's lovely. Don't you think she will be? You said you always thought she would grow up very beautiful. Oh, isn't it dreadful that we've never had a photo of them? Such lots of mine sent to them, and never any of theirs! It's like drawing their faces with your eyes shut. I think Hermie will have her hair in a thick plait. I suppose she goes to picnics and dances and everything, and always knows what to say to people. Mother, I don't think I shall ever get to know what to say. I'm fourteen, and nothing will come into my head to answer people. A lady said to me this morning, "You play magnificently." Now what can you answer to that? I really felt I'd like to say, "Yes, don't I?" just to see how she would look. Only I was afraid it would be rude. If I'd said, "Oh no, I don't, you're mistaken," she would have thought I was mock modest, wouldn't she? But Hermie, yes, she'll always know what to say. I can sleep in her room, can't I? You said there wouldn't be any other. It will be like Ellen and Edie Fowler we met on the trip to Dover; they always had their arms round each other, and used to tell each other everything and everything. Hermie and I will; we'll whisper and whisper all night, just like they did.'
The steward came up with eleven-o'clock tea and the glass of milk that Challis always drank. Mrs. Cameron left her cup to grow cold, Challis set her tumbler in an insecure place, and a lurch of the ship sent it flying.