CHAPTER III
AN AUTHORESS, A DUCHESS, AND A POMPOUS MAN
I can't say that I had altogether recovered my temper by the time we reached Dover. Certainly the elements there didn't exactly tend to soothe one. Can anything in the world be more detestable than getting one's self and one's belongings from the train to the steamer in a good steady downpour of rain? There was only one thing that cheered me up, and that was the sight of Marjory as she prepared to descend in her garden-party frock. I don't mind admitting now that of course she did look much smarter than I did at Charing Cross, but I had my revenge at Dover. Not the longest and most enveloping of ulsters could save that dress altogether. I smiled with unholy joy. There was probably worse to come. In a plaintive little voice on the way down Marjory had said she did so hope the crossing would be calm. I guessed she was just one of those sailors who are ill before they get on board.
We descended. Fortunately, I had been wise, and had taken nothing but the smallest of handbags
