‘What an exhibition she’s making of herself! Her husband, if she ever had one, can’t be six months dead yet, by her mourning. She ought to be ashamed of herself—the sly thing!’
If the widow did not exactly hear all this, she felt it, and cast looks of triumphant defiance at her female friends, clustered in groups, most of them holding on to something unassisted. Elderly unmarried convalescents, and very spiteful, the majority.
‘Something—on—the—lee-quarter, sir!’ came down from aloft.
[46]
]The skipper called for his glass, without quitting his companion.
‘Keep her away a couple of points,’ he commanded, as he brought the instrument to bear.
‘Can’t make it out at all,’ he went on, after a minute’s focussing. ‘Something white, jumping up and down. Bit of wreckage, spar, or the like, I expect. Keep her away another point. Take a peep, ma’am. Your bright eyes ’ll perhaps distinguish it.’
The widow bridled coquettishly and, supported by the skipper, put herself in what she fancied an appropriate and elegant position.
‘Oh!’ she squealed presently, ‘I see it, captain; it’s coming this way. How very interesting! “A message from the sea,” “Strange tale of the ocean,” and all that sort of thing, you know, that one reads about in the papers. What an exciting adventure!’ The widow had taken the glass from her eye whilst speaking.
Suddenly a passenger cried,—
‘I see it! Look! On top of that wave!’ But even as he spoke it disappeared.