you know, my dear, how tiresome servants are
about toast--they make it overnight, and warm it up in the morning.
Cook is no exception, and I have complained till I'm tired. I should
be sorry to change, she's been here so long, but I did hear the other
day of such a nice respectable person...."

Sally interrupted, catching at a slight pause: "But when Dr. Conrad
came into your room, what did he say?"

"My dear, I was going to tell you." She paused, with closed eyes
and folded hands of aggressive patience, for all trace of human
interruption to die down; then resumed: "I said to Conrad: 'I think
you might have thought of that before.' And then he was sorry. I will
do him that justice. My dear boy has his faults, as I know too well,
but he is always ready to admit he is wrong."

"We can get you lodgings, you know," said Sally, from sheer intuition,
for she had not a particle of information, so far, about what passed
over the toast. The old lady seemed to think the conversation had been
sufficiently well filled out, for she merely said, "Facing the sea,"
and went on knitting.

Sally and her mother knew St. Sennan well--had been at his
watering-place twice before--so she was able, as it were, to forecast
lodgings on the spot. "I dare say Mrs. Iggulden's is vacant," she
said. "I wish you could have hers, she's such a nice old body. Her
husband was a pilot, and she has one son a coastguard and another in
the navy. And one daughter has no legs, but can do shell-work; and
the other's married a tax-collector."

But Goody Vereker was not going to be beguiled into making herself
agreeable. She took up the attitude that Sally was young, and easily
deceived. She threw a wet blanket over her narrative of the Iggulden
family, and ignored any murmurs that came from beneath it. "Sea-faring
folk are all alike," so she said. "When I was your age, my dear, I
simply worshipped them. My father and all his brothers were devoted
to the sea, and my Uncle David published an account of his visit to
the Brazils. But you will learn by experience. At any rate, I trust
there are no vermin. That is always my terror in these lodging-houses,
and ill-aired beds."

Was it fair, Sally thought to herself, to expose that dear old Mrs.
Iggulden, who lived in a wooden dwelling covered with tar, between
two houses built of black shiny bricks, but consisting chiefly
of bay-windows with elderly visitors in them looking through
telescopes at the shipping,