"It so seldom happens, though," she said. "Life is so like that book, 'Ships that pass in the night,' don't you think?"
"I haven't read it," Marie said bluntly.
She hated Mrs. Heriot, hated everything about her—her voice, her smile, even her clothes—she hated them all; she went straight in to breakfast without waiting for Chris, and when he joined her she was quite well aware that his eyes were turned to her again and again anxiously.
Directly breakfast was over she turned to go upstairs, but he Followed.
"Where are you going, Marie Celeste?" He tried hard to speak naturally, but he had never felt more uncomfortable in his life; he knew what Marie must be thinking, and he realized that the only explanation he could offer of his early walk with Mrs. Heriot was a very thin one indeed.
She answered without stopping or looking round.
"I am going to finish packing."
"I'll come with you."
She did not answer, and he followed her up to her room.
"Why don't you go and have a swim?" she asked then. "It's a pity to waste the last morning indoors."