Clarissa exclaimed that she could think of nothing more delightful. For
an instant she saw herself in her drawing-room in Browne Street with a
Plato open on her knees--Plato in the original Greek. She could not help
believing that a real scholar, if specially interested, could slip Greek
into her head with scarcely any trouble.
Ridley engaged her to come to-morrow.
"If only your ship is going to treat us kindly!" she exclaimed,
drawing Willoughby into play. For the sake of guests, and these were
distinguished, Willoughby was ready with a bow of his head to vouch for
the good behaviour even of the waves.
"I'm dreadfully bad; and my husband's not very good," sighed Clarissa.
"I am never sick," Richard explained. "At least, I have only been
actually sick once," he corrected himself. "That was crossing the
Channel. But a choppy sea, I confess, or still worse, a swell, makes me
distinctly uncomfortable. The great thing is never to miss a meal. You
look at the food, and you say, 'I can't'; you take a mouthful, and
Lord knows how you're going to swallow it; but persevere, and you often
settle the attack for good. My wife's a coward."
They were pushing back their chairs. The ladies were hesitating at the
doorway.
"I'd better show the way," said Helen, advancing.
Rachel followed. She had taken no part in the talk; no one had spoken
to her; but she had listened to every word that was said.
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