“It has a little the air of Milborough taking the head dowager in to supper. But I’ll never pity Milborough again. He has behaved too ill!”
Millie asked why he had failed.
“He was snubbed by a certain young lady, and revolted against women. This is an attempt to break away, and have only men on board; and how dull they’ll be! I picture the poor bored creatures stretched about on the deck, sleeping and eating, their wits in leading-strings. What can they talk about, with not even a newspaper to suggest topics? I shall be revenged.”
She must hear everything at once, and everything meant especially whom they had met. Mr Grey she knew, but her interest in Anne Dalrymple was shown impetuously by a burst of ejaculations and questions. She had heard so much, admired, blamed, wondered in a breath! Anne’s last engagement and its abrupt ending had brought a chatter of tongues upon her. Lady Fanny’s admiration for the way she moved forbade her to condemn what certainly required excuses; she laughed at her own illogical reasons, but clung to them.
“To see her dance is a dream,” she declared. “I could forgive anything for the delight of watching her. And you looked at her for a fortnight!”
When she had Millie up-stairs alone she returned to the subject.
“Tell me more about Miss Dalrymple. They say men find her irresistible.”
“I dare say,” said Millie, with a little reserve. But the next moment a smile stole into her face. “Who do you think we left with her?”
“Who?”
Lady Fanny sat on the edge of the bed, her sparkling face eager with animation.