“I hope I have not kept you waiting,” said Neva courteously.
“Did you think us barbarous enough to eat our breakfast before your coming?” cried Craven Black, with exaggerated courtesy. “Sorry not to see you looking better. Did you pass a pleasant night?”
“I did not sleep very well,” answered Neva quietly.
She took her place at the table, and Craven Black waited upon her and his wife with careful attention. The breakfast consisted of stewed chicken, coffee, bread, fancy biscuits, and delicate fruits, including oranges, grapes, and peaches, and Neva brought to the meal an appetite sharpened by the sea air.
“I suppose we shall sleep at Wynde Heights to-night?” said Neva, forcing a cheerfulness she did not feel. “We must reach Yorkshire at our present rate of sailing long before evening. Do you purpose landing at Scarborough, or Whitby, or Stockton, Mr. Black?” she asked. “All three are railway stations, and we can go on to the Heights without delay.”
The husband and wife exchanged significant glances.
“Neva, dear,” said Mrs. Black caressingly, “would you care if we do not go to Wynde Heights? You know the place so little, and have no acquaintances in the neighborhood; and I have none, and I dread a visit to the Yorkshire dower house as something dull and stupid beyond comparison.”
Neva looked at the speaker with startled eyes.
“Are we not on our way to Wynde Heights, Mrs. Black?” she demanded, in surprise.
“Yes, dear, if you insist upon adhering to the strict letter of our original plan,” answered Mrs. Black. “But I am sure you will not be so hard-hearted and cruel. I no longer want to go to Wynde Heights, and Craven thinks a stay there would be a bore; but of course, if you insist upon it, we will sacrifice our own pleasure to yours.”