Late in the afternoon, just before tea was served on deck, Elizabeth came from her room, looking very pathetic in spite of the touch of rouge on her cheeks, and color on her lips. Mr. Dalken sprang up to assist her to a chair, but she refused his support with an impatient toss of her head. Consequently, the vessel giving a sudden graceful curve, Elizabeth was thrown head first into Mr. Ashby’s arms.
“My! It’s not often that an old man has such an armful of loveliness tossed him by the generous sea,” laughed Mr. Ashby, as he assisted Elizabeth to her feet. He understood the way to calm a young woman’s chagrin, and compliment her at the same time.
Elizabeth had not heard of the graduate physician’s visits to the other sea sick guests, nor of the dark brown medicine he had prescribed in obedience to Mr. Dalken’s orders. Hence she believed she had been the one who received all the medical attentions and the dose.
“Dear me, I have had such an attack of cerebral neuritis,” commenced she, sighing to attract sympathy. “Unfortunately, this attack came over me from the unusual excitement due to preparing for this cruise. The doctor says I need more rest and a nerve tonic. I never call in such inexperienced doctors at home, but this one seems to know exactly what to do in my case.”
Elizabeth glanced at Mrs. Courtney, then at her father, in order to assure herself that they had comprehended what she had said. Mrs. Courtney seemed to be politely intent upon the girl’s words, and Mr. Dalken smiled lovingly at his daughter. Elizabeth failed to read any suspicion of amusement in their expressions, so she proceeded.
“You know, I never am sea-sick—never! And I wondered if the rest of you would think that my indisposition might be an attack of the unpleasant sensations which generally prostrate inexperienced seafarers. It was rather disconcerting that this attack of nervous trouble should return the first day out at sea.” Elizabeth now glanced around at the faces about her. She felt a bit piqued at the hardly controlled expressions of one or two of them.
Eleanor, with her blunt honesty and impatience with any form of subterfuge, blurted out unexpectedly: “I, too, was indisposed, Elizabeth; but the wise young doctor informed me that I never could be sea-sick—my trouble was eating too much candy, and the volume of water which was playing fast and loose with the yacht. He gave me this dark brown medicine to take, and assured me that the moment the gale subsided my nausea would disappear.”
As Eleanor spoke she took a small bottle from her bag and held it out in plain view of Elizabeth and the others in the amused circle of friends.
Elizabeth looked in dismay, recognized the color of the medicine, then glanced about at the smiling faces of those who also had taken the doctor’s medicine.
“Is this a joke you wish to play on me?” demanded she.