“And where are they? And where art thou,
My country?”
“Oh,” I cried, “don’t say any more! We are not in the humour for poetry.”
“Of course we’re not,” said Hermione, glancing at her.
“I was quoting,” said Augusta. “I was thinking, not about what Lord Byron thought when he spoke of ancient Greece, but of all that I was leaving behind in London.”
“And what are you leaving behind that is so specially valuable, Augusta?” I asked.
“Your father’s lectures,” she replied. She turned once more and looked at the horizon.
“Don’t worry her,” said Hermione in a low tone to me.
“I wonder if she’ll ever get over it,” I said.
Hermione and I began to pace slowly up and down the deck.
“I cannot imagine why my step-mother was so anxious that she should come with us,” I said.