For half the morning they amused themselves in their usual way. Miss Marsden conversed in her semi-sarcastic fashion, usually on the frailties of mankind, and Nina intently listened. So absorbed with each other were they, that the first lunch-bell rang before the young lady had left her berth.
Nina attempted to assist Marie, but the operation of dressing after so many days in bed was a tedious one; and the attempt, owing to Nina’s high spirits, degenerated into a frolic.
“Marie, go get us a tray,” said Miss Marsden, at last, pressing a hand against her shaking side. “Child, I have laughed till I am weak. You are better than a chest full of medicine. After lunch, we will try to effect a combination of all these garments.”
Nina gazed at her in admiration when she was fully dressed. “You are like the tall green poplars on the meadows at home,” she said, impulsively. “I wish I were like you.”
“Nonsense, child; men like a rosebud like you far better than a poplar like me.”
Nina shook her head unbelievingly, and trotted after her to the deck. Marie established them both comfortably in steamer chairs, in the midst of shawls and rugs, then she betook herself to the society of Lady Forrest’s maid.
The day was now perfect. The sea had calmed down, save for a long languid swell, and the sky was still dazzlingly bright. Nina surveyed the unusual number of men, women, and children struggling on deck, and asked Miss Marsden whether she would like to speak to some of them.
“No,” said the young lady, lazily, “I don’t care for people whose antecedents are unknown to me; I think it is better to keep them all at a distance. Women cannot be too careful of the associates they choose when travelling alone. Who is that tall ugly man with the eye-glass staring at us?”
“Captain Eversleigh.”
“Impertinence,” and Miss Marsden lowered her parasol.