Jasper Nettlepoint sat on my left hand when he was not upstairs seeing that Miss Mavis had her repast comfortably on deck. His mother’s place would have been next mine had she shown herself, and then that of the young lady under her care. These companions, in other words, would have been between us, Jasper marking the limit of the party in that quarter. Miss Mavis was present at luncheon the first day, but dinner passed without her coming in, and when it was half over Jasper remarked that he would go up and look after her.
“Isn’t that young lady coming—the one who was here to lunch?” Mrs. Peck asked of me as he left the saloon.
“Apparently not. My friend tells me she doesn’t like the saloon.”
“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?” my fellow passenger echoed.