'You don't mean to say she's sick, do you?'
'Oh no, not in this weather. But she likes to be above.'
'And is that gentleman gone up to her?'
'Yes, she's under his mother's care.'
'And is his mother up there, too?' asked Mrs. Peck, whose processes were homely and direct.
'No, she remains in her cabin. People have different tastes. Perhaps that's one reason why Miss Mavis doesn't come to table,' I added—'her chaperon not being able to accompany her.'
'Her chaperon?'
'Mrs. Nettlepoint—the lady under whose protection she is.'
'Protection?' Mrs. Peck stared at me a moment, moving some valued morsel in her mouth; then she exclaimed, familiarly, 'Pshaw!' I was struck with this and I was on the point of asking her what she meant by it when she continued: 'Are we not going to see Mrs. Nettlepoint?'
'I am afraid not. She vows that she won't stir from her sofa.'