“How consistent!” sneered the old maid.
“The poor lady may die,” suggested Miss Leigh.
“Send for the Doctor—there is one on board.”
“The Doctor, ladies,” said the stewardess, coming forward, “got hurt last night by the fall of the sail, during the storm, and is ill in his bed.”
“If such is the case,” continued Miss Leigh, “you cannot, surely, deny the lady the consolation of speaking to her husband?”
“What a noise that squalling child makes!” cried a fat woman, popping her night-capped head out of an upper berth; “can’t it be removed? It hinders me from getting a wink of sleep.”
“Cannot you take charge of it, Stewardess?”
“Oh, La! I’ve too much upon my hands already—what with Mrs. Dalton’s children and all this sickness!”
“Have a little mercy, ladies, on the sick mother, and I will endeavour to pacify its cries,” said Miss Leigh. “Poor little thing, it misses her care, and we are all strange to it.”
“I insist upon its being removed!” cried the fat woman. “The comfort of every lady in the cabin is not to be sacrificed for the sake of that squalling brat. If women choose to travel with such young infants, they should take a private conveyance. I will complain to the Captain, if the stewardess does not remove it instantly.”