“Yes.”
“That must be a strange sensation. I can’t imagine it. I’m a Cockney, you see.” He turned and looked down at her. Perhaps he thought she looked rather small and young for he said:
“Someone coming to meet you?”
“At the station, not at the boat. An aunt. I’ve never met her.”
“I hope she’s a nice aunt.”
“I do too. She’s my father’s sister.”
“You’ll be able to break the ice by telling her that you recognized her at once from her likeness to your father—” He broke off abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve said something that’s — I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” said Roberta, and because he looked so genuinely sorry she added: “I haven’t got quite used to talking ordinarily about them yet. My father and mother, I mean. I’ve got to get used to it, of course.”
“Both?” said her companion compassionately.
“Yes. In a motor accident. I’m going to live with this aunt.”