Aunt Sophia did not speak; but her hard sharp face softened more and more as she went into the house, to come out, ten minutes later, in one of the most far-spreading Tuscan straw-hats that ever covered the head of a maiden lady; and the marvel to her friends was that she should have been able to obtain so old-fashioned a production in these modern times.
Volume One—Chapter Ten.
Up to the Weir.
“That’s the style. Hold her tight, Monnick.—Now, auntie, you first. Steady; that’s the way. You won’t swamp her.”
“But it gives way so, James, my dear,” said Aunt Sophia nervously.
“There you are. Sit down at once. Never stand up in a boat.—Is the cushion all right? That’s the way.—Now, Naomi.—Hand her in, Jack.—Come along, Kitty.”
Lady Scarlett gave her hand to her husband as soon as Naomi Raleigh was in, and stepped lightly from the gunwale to one thwart, and then took her place beside Aunt Sophia, Naomi being on the other.
“Arthur, old fellow, you’d better sit behind them and ship the rudder. Shorten the lines, and you can steer.—Ready, Jack?” he said as Prayle stepped into the boat and sat down on a thwart behind the ladies.