“Any time you come, Miss, you’ll be welcome. It’s a poor place we have, surely, but it would be a queer thing if we wouldn’t give you the best of what might be going. But I don’t know how it is. There’s a powerful lot of strangers knocking around, people that might be decent or might not.”
His eyes were still fixed on Frank Mannix when Priscilla left him.
The tide was flowing strongly and the water began to cover the lower parts of the bank. Priscilla measured with her eye the distance between the Tortoise and the sea. She calculated that she might get off in about an hour.
When she reached the Tortoise she found Frank pressing the last half peach on their guest.
“Miss Rutherford,” said Priscilla, “have you landed on Inishbawn, that island to the west of you, behind the corner of Illaunglos?”
“No,” she said. “I wanted to, but the boy who’s rowing me strongly advised me not to.”
“Rats?” Said Priscilla, “or fever?”
Miss Rutherford seemed puzzled by the inquiry.
“What I mean,” said Priscilla, “is this: did he give you any reason for not landing on the island?”
“As well as I recollect,” said Miss Rutherford, “he said something to the effect that it wasn’t a suitable island for ladies. I didn’t take much notice of what he said, for it didn’t matter to me where I landed. One of the islands is the same thing as another. In fact Inishbawn, if that’s its name, doesn’t look a very good place for sponges.”