Sylvia said, "Let us ask Dr. Atherton."
So we did. But Dr. Atherton only smiled.
"There was something behind that smile of his," said Sylvia, suspiciously. "As if we were babies, either of us," she added, severely.
Yes, there was something suspicious in that smile. And Dr. Atherton hadn't looked at us full in the face while he talked. Besides, there was a sort of lurking pity in his voice; and—yes, I'm sure his lip had twitched a little nervously.
"Why should he be nervous if there is nothing the matter with the ship?"
"And why should he look as if he felt sorry for us?"
"Let's ask the captain," I said.
"Just leave the ship in my keeping, young ladies," said the captain, when we asked him. "Go back to your fancy-work and your books."
The May Queen was not a regular passenger ship. Sylvia, and I, and Dr. Atherton were the only passengers. She was laden with wool—a cargo boat; but Sylvia and I were accommodated with such a pretty cabin!
We had left Sydney in the captain's charge. Father wanted us to have a year's schooling in England; and we were coming to Devonshire to live with Aunt Sabina, and get a little polishing at a finishing school.