The girls exchanged horrified glances.
“What place do you consider the most beautiful you ever saw?” here interrupted Mary with quick tact.
“Porto Fino in Italy, dear. Queen Margharita calls it ‘il Paradiso.’”
Even scenery must have an aristocratic sanction before it could be considered beautiful by Mrs. Jones.
“But, dear, as I was remarking, if your motor will hold——”
“Kechew! Kechew!” Nancy was seized with a sneezing fit.
“It’s time for shuffleboard,” cried Billie. “I do wonder where the others are.”
It was a brilliant spring day and all the passengers were on deck. Miss Helen was taking a stroll with some friends. Mr. Kalisch could be seen in the distance reading a book. The other passengers were stretched in their steamer chairs or talking in groups.
“Who said shuffleboard?” called a cheerful voice, and Feargus O’Connor, his face as ruddy as the harvest moon, emerged from a passage-way nearby.
Victor Pulaski, a young Russian, followed, with several others of the younger passengers.