Then they went below to breakfast.
The girl was hungry; Father Burke was not. The undulations of the boat so tempered his appetite that food had lost its charm. A cup of tea and a bite of toast were the limits of his endeavor. Even these descended under protest and threatened to return. When the heretic–the 55victim of the plot–appeared soon after and took his seat at the table, he noticed that the greetings he received, while friendly and all that etiquette required, were less cordial than on the day before.
And this was emphasized later, when he joined Miss Marshall on the deck. After a moment’s conversation, she spoke of letters to be written, and went below.
And once again, to make sure that this disgrace was no fancy of his own, he approached her as she sat reading, or at least, with a book in her hand. In his best and most easy manner, he inquired:
“Did you ever hear of the Magdalen Islands, Miss Marshall?”
She looked up, and nodded pleasantly.
“Well, we are passing them now.”
“Indeed!”
“They are off there to the westward, between twenty and thirty miles away, but out of sight, of course.”
Amiably she inclined her head in recognition of the news, but made no reply.