"I really don't know."

"Oh, of course, if you'd rather keep your own counsel, pray do so,"
snapped the Great Lady, bridling.

"Yes," replied Lucille, and Mrs. Spywell informed her circle of
stereotypes that Lucille was a stupid chit without a word to say for
herself, and an artful designing hussy who was probably an adventuress
of the "fishing-fleet".

To Auntie Yvette it appeared matter of marvel that earth and sky and
sea were much as when she last passed that way. In quarter of a
century or so there appeared to be but little change in the Egyptian
and Arabian deserts, in the mountains of the African and Arabian
coasts, of the Gulf of Suez, in the contours of the islands of the Red
Sea, and of Aden, whilst, in mid-ocean, there was absolutely no
observable difference between then and now. Wonderful indeed!

This theme, that of what was going on at Monksmead, and that of what
to do when Dam was recaptured, formed the bulk of her conversation
with her young companion.

"What will you _do_, dear, when we _have_ found the poor darling boy?"
she would ask.

"Take him by the ear to the nearest church and marry him," Lucille
would reply; or--"Stick to him like a leech for evermore, Auntie";
or--"Marry him when he isn't looking, or while he's asleep, if he's
ill--or by the scruff of his neck if he's well...."