“Oh! Yes! Was she pretty?”
She felt, rather than saw, his start of surprise.
“Who?”
“The sister. You said there was a girl in the other party.”
“I’m sure I don’t know! I didn’t notice.”
“Don’t you care how people look?”
“It doesn’t interest me, unless I am already attracted in other ways. At least—” he hesitated conscientiously. “I used not to be. I think I am growing more noticing. Geoff always said I needed to be awakened to the claims of beauty. I understand now that it may be a great additional charm.”
How did he understand? Who or what had increased his power of observation? Margot hoped that she knew; longed to be certain, yet dreaded the definite information. In a little flurry of nervousness she began to talk volubly on her own account, hoping thereby to ward off embarrassing explanations.
“I seem fated to come in for adventures. I went over to Norway one summer, and the engines broke down half-way across the North Sea, and at the same time all the electric lights went out. It was terribly rough, and we rolled for a couple of hours—the longest hours I have ever known! The partitions of the cabins did not quite reach to the roof, and you could hear the different conversations going on all round. In a dreary kind of way I realised that they were very funny, and that I should laugh over them another day. Quite near us were two jolly English schoolboys, who kept ordering meals all the next day, and shouting out details to a poor sister who was lying terribly ill in the next cabin ‘Monica, we are having bacon! Have a bit of bread soaked in fat?’ Then Monica would groan—a heartrending groan, and they would start afresh. ‘Buck up, Monica—try a muffin!’ At lunch-time they pressed roast beef and Yorkshire pudding upon her, and she groaned louder than ever. She was ill, poor girl. In Norway there was an alarm of fire in one of those terrible wooden hotels, and we all jumped on each other’s balconies to get to the outside staircases. It was soon extinguished, but it was a very bad scare. And now this is the third. Mr Elgood, do coo-ee again! Ron must be looking for me, unless he is lost himself.”
The Editor put his hands to his mouth and sent forth a succession of long-drawn-out calls, which seemed as though they must surely be heard for miles around, but in the silence which followed no note of reply could be heard. In the face of such continued disappointment, Margot had not the courage to go on making conversation, but relapsed into a dreary silence, which was broken only by the gentle puff-puff of the Editor’s pipe. In the darkness and silence neither took note of time, or realised how it sped along. Only by physical sensations could it be checked, but gradually these became disagreeably pressing.