“I? Never in the world!—lying here with my nose in a book and not caring a straw.”
“You’ll participate at second hand. You’ll see through my eyes, hang upon my lips, take sides, feel passions, all sorts of sympathies and indignations. I’ve an idea,” I further developed, “that your young lady’s the person on board who will interest me most.”
“‘Mine’ indeed! She hasn’t been near me since we left the dock.”
“There you are—you do feel she owes you something. Well,” I added, “she’s very curious.”
“You’ve such cold-blooded terms!” Mrs. Nettlepoint wailed. “Elle ne sait pas se conduire; she ought to have come to ask about me.”
“Yes, since you’re under her care,” I laughed. “As for her not knowing how to behave—well, that’s exactly what we shall see.”
“You will, but not I! I wash my hands of her.”
“Don’t say that—don’t say that.”
Mrs. Nettlepoint looked at me a moment. “Why do you speak so solemnly?”
In return I considered her. “I’ll tell you before we land. And have you seen much of your son?”