Aunt Jerrold looked through her half-closed eyes, smiled and nodded again.
“Faith of a good woman!” said Margot, “does she want a nurse, does she want a physician? No. The good doctor is by her side, and ever since the day when the bad man was taken I have seen the beautiful brown of the sea air and the rose of the sun come into her cheeks. It is a folly my being here now, but if mademoiselle and the great sea captain will keep my faithful services till they marry and be happy; and oh, mademoiselle,” cried Margot, turning her eyes up toward the sky, and displaying her white teeth, “the way that I adore the dear, dear little children!”
“Margot!” cried Miss Jerrold austerely, and she rose and walked away.
“Faith of a good woman! what have I said?” muttered Margot, looking now at where Guest and Edie had gone down to a rock pool in which they were fishing with their hands for prawns, but catching each other’s fingers instead deep down under the weeds. “They will all marry, and very soon. Ah! those old maids!”
The one to whom she specially referred had gone to sit down now by her brother, who was scanning a vessel in the offing with his glass.
“French man-of-war, Rebecca,” he said. “Fine vessel, but only a confounded imitation of one of ours.”
“Yes, dear, I suppose so,” said his sister, and she went on with her embroidery.
“Are you getting tired of the place, Mark?” she said suddenly.
“Eh? Tired! What for? It’s beautiful and calm, and there’s water and a bit of shipping, and everyone seems to be happy and comfortable. Tired? No! Are you?”
“Oh, no, dear, only I thought we could not go on much longer like this.”