'I have an idea she'll stay in her cabin now,' I said. 'She tells me she has one to herself.' Mrs. Nettlepoint replied that she might do as she liked, and I repeated to her the little conversation I had had with Jasper.
She listened with interest, but 'Marry her? mercy!' she exclaimed. 'I like the manner in which you give my son away.'
'You wouldn't accept that.'
'Never in the world.'
'Then I don't understand your position.'
'Good heavens, I have none! It isn't a position to be bored to death.'
'You wouldn't accept it even in the case I put to him—that of her believing she had been encouraged to throw over poor Porterfield?'
'Not even—not even. Who knows what she believes?'
'Then you do exactly what I said you would—you show me a fine example of maternal immorality.'
'Maternal fiddlesticks! It was she began it.'
'Then why did you come up to-day?'
'To keep you quiet.'
Mrs. Nettlepoint's dinner was served on deck, but I went into the saloon. Jasper was there but not Grace Mavis, as I had half expected. I asked him what had become of her, if she were ill (he must have thought I had an ignoble pertinacity), and he replied that he knew nothing whatever about her. Mrs. Peck talked to me about Mrs. Nettlepoint and said it had been a great interest to her to see her; only it was a pity she didn't seem more sociable. To this I replied that she had to beg to be excused—she was not well.
