"That is a very unusual view," I ventured.
"How?" she asked vaguely.
"Most people," I explained, "think school a very good thing."
"It costs nothing," she mused and her hand fell away from the paling. The two little boys ran off, intent on a fresh game. I scanned her face furtively, appreciative of the regular and potent modelling, the pure olive tints, the pose and poise of the head. Indubitably her face was dark; the raven hair that swept across her brow accentuated the gloom slumbering in her eyes. One unconsciously surmised that somewhere within her life lay a region of unrest, a period of passion not to be confused with the quiet courtship described by her husband.
"True," I assented. "By the way, is Mr. Carville due in port soon?" She turned her head and regarded me attentively.
"No," she said. "Do you wish to see him?"
"Oh, not particularly," I hastened to say. "He was telling us some of his experiences at sea, you know. It was very interesting."
"I do not like the sea," she said steadily. "It made me sick ..."
"So it did me. But I enjoy hearing about foreign lands; Italy, for instance."
"This is all right," Mrs. Carville replied in the same even tone. "Here."