Angus Sutherland starts, and looks up; he has been deep in a chart of Loch Bracadaile.
"Don't they say that water finds its own level? Now do you call this water finding its own level?"—and as she propounds this conundrum, she clings on tightly to the side of the companion, for, in truth, the White Dove is curveting a good deal among those great masses of waves.
"Another tumbler broken!" she exclaims. "Now who left that tumbler on the table?"
"I know," says Mary Avon.
"Who was it then?" says the occupant of the companion-way; and we begin to tremble for the culprit.
"Why, you yourself!"
"Mary Avon, how can you tell such a story!" says the other, with a stern face.
"Oh, but that is so," calls out our Doctor, "for I myself saw you bring the tumbler out of the ladies' cabin with water for the flowers."
The universal shout of laughter that overwhelms Madame Dignity is too much for her. A certain conscious, lurking smile begins to break through the sternness of her face.
"I don't believe a word of it," she declares, firing a shot as she retreats. "Not a word of it. You are two conspirators. To tell such a story about a tumbler—-!"