“He’d look queer—if he knew.”
“Well, I guess he’ll know,” said Mrs. Gotch.
“She’d tell him herself—she wouldn’t be afraid,” the gentleman went on.
“Well she might as well kill him. He’ll jump overboard,” Mrs. Peck could foretell.
“Jump overboard?” cried Mrs. Gotch as if she hoped then that Mr. Porterfield would be told.
“He has just been waiting for this—for long, long years,” said Mrs. Peck.
“Do you happen to know him?” I asked.
She replied at her convenience. “No, but I know a lady who does. Are you going up?”
I had risen from my place—I had not ordered supper. “I’m going to take a turn before going to bed.”
“Well then you’ll see!”