There must be something we can do. With a rustle of her full lilac petticoats, Miss Froxfield turned back to Alderley. ‘There is Bernadette, Marie-Thérèse, Marie-Joséphine, Marie-Claire, Henriette—’ Exasperated, Gerald seized her by the shoulders. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. “That is very nice of you,” she said. Cold drops stood upon Wood's brow, as he encountered this obstacle. Following her lead, he fortified himself with a swallow of the excellent Madeira before responding.
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