"
"Surely you are not going to cry just because I am sorry for you,"
cried the girl. "There now. Don't give way. Let me call one of the men.
He will bring us some tea, and we can have a nice long chat before
breakfast."
"Yes, do that. We both need it. My grief is rather selfish, Irene. I
know your secret, dear girl, and I wish you every happiness, though the
phrase carries with it the bitter self-communion that, for my own part,
I have forfeited most things that make life happy. Well, that is not
what I want to say. The storm has passed. Summon your slave, and bid
the kettle boil."
Surprised and touched by the emotion displayed by her companion, Irene
hastened to procure the beverage which Providence evidently intended
for the consolation of afflicted womankind. The camp was already astir,
and the crew of the _Aphrodite_ were preparing their morning meal, so
two cups of hot tea were quickly available.
When Mrs. Haxton spoke again, the tears had gone, and her voice resumed
its pleasantly modulated tone.
Pages:
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375