“I thought—you—were on the Golden Cloud,” he stammered.
Miss Tyrell shook her head and looked down. “I missed the ship,” she said, pensively.
“Missed the ship?” shouted the other; “missed the ship? Did Flower miss it too?”
“I’m afraid not,” said Miss Tyrell, even more pensively than before.
“Good heavens, I never heard of such a thing,” said Fraser; “how ever did you manage to do it?”
“I went to lie down a little while on Saturday afternoon,” said Poppy, reflectively; “I’d got my box packed and everything ready; when I got up it was past seven o’clock, and then I knew it was no use. Ships won’t wait, you know.”
Fraser gazed at her in amaze. In his mind’s eye he still saw the deck of the Golden Cloud; but Poppy’s deck-chair was empty, and Flower, in place of exchanging glances with her, was walking about in a state equally compounded, of wrath and bewilderment.
“And you had given up your berth in the City?” said Fraser, at length, in concern.
The consciousness of a little colour in her cheek which she could not repress affected Miss Tyrell’s temper. “No,” she said, sharply.
“Didn’t you intend to go, then?” asked the bewildered Fraser.