"Quite true, my dear," agreed Mrs. Gantry. "But I had to see you—to talk matters over with you. I did not wish to break in on your enjoyment of those delightful English house parties; and crossing over, you know, I was too wretchedly ill to think of anything. Can I never get accustomed to the sea!"
"It's so unfortunate," condoled Genevieve. "I believe I'm a born sailor."
"You proved it, starting off with that globe-trotting Lady Bayrose."
"Poor Lady Bayrose! To think that she—" The girl pressed her hands to her eyes. "The way that frightful breaker whirled the boat loose and over and over!—and the water swarming with sharks!"
"Do not think of it, my dear! Really, you must not think of it!" urged Mrs. Gantry. "Be thankful it happened before the sailors had time to put you in the same boat. Better still, my dear, do not permit yourself to think of it at all. Put all that dreadful experience out of your mind."
"But you do not understand, Aunt Amice. I fear you never will. Except for that—for poor Lady Bayrose—I've told you, I do not wish to forget it."
"My dear!" protested Mrs. Gantry, "cannot you realize how very improper—? That man! What if he should talk?"
"Is there anything to be concealed?" asked Genevieve, with quiet dignity.
"You know how people misconstrue things," insisted her aunt. "That newspaper notoriety was quite sufficiently—It's most fortunate that Lord Avondale is not affected. I must admit, his attitude towards that man puzzles me."
"I can understand it very well," replied Genevieve, firmly.