The dressing-bell awakened me in the morning, and after I had dressed I went along to Ulrica's cabin, where she was preparing herself with an ill grace to accompany the party to Pisa.
"I'm awfully tired of this trip!" I exclaimed, seating myself wearily upon the edge of the berth, "Five weeks at sea is quite sufficient for all purposes, without being taken around the Adriatic merely on account of old Keppel's whim."
"So am I terribly tired of it, my dear," Ulrica declared. "I only wish I could make some excuse to stay ashore."
That was exactly what I desired. I had no intention of sailing again in the doomed vessel, and had determined that she should not.
"Why can't we both stay ashore?" I suggested.
"Well, I can't," she responded, "for one simple reason. Gerald is leaving for Florence this morning; and if it were found that I, too, were missing, evil tongues would at once begin to wag."
"My dear Ulrica," I said, "I, for one, am very much obliged to old Keppel for his hospitality; but, nevertheless, I don't mean to be one of a party shipped up and down the Mediterranean like a cargo of coals. I don't intend to sail again."
"What, dear!" she cried. "Are you really serious? What's the cause of this sudden revolt?
"I'm bored to death," I replied. "And there are one or two persons on board that I intend to avoid in future; Mrs. Langdon, for instance—the old tabby!"
"Tabby is the correct term," Ulrica laughed. "I've never been able to find out where old Keppel discovered that rejuvenated skeleton. Her paint and powder are absolutely wicked."