“She gabbled away most eloquently to the Maire, almost as fluently as a born French-woman,” said Ivinghoe, “and persuaded him at last that it was not necessary to come on board to inspect us, nor even to detain us till he had sent for instructions to St. Malo.” “As Ivy managed matters, I thought we might be kept as hostages,” said Phyllis. “But, thanks to her blandishments, the solemn official vouchsafed to send off a messenger for us with a telegram.” “I do not think he sent directions to pursue our suspicious _galère_,” added Phyllis; “but I own I shall be glad to be under the lee of old England again.” “What was your telegram?” “Brevity was safest, nor had we money enough for two; so all I attempted was, ‘Delrio to Flight, Rock Quay. Both safe. Picked up by _Kittiwake_.’ I thought that would be the quickest means of relieving anxiety, as we were not sure of other addresses; and as to ‘home,’ Mamma probably hardly was aware of the storm, or, if she were, she knew the capabilities of yachts and of Griggs.” “Right!” returned his father. “Poor Miss Prescott! she must have given you up for lost. Have you been improving your mind with French telegrams?” he added, turning to Delrio. “No, my lord, I found my way to the church, a wonderful piece of old Norman!—if it may so be called.” “I see you have been sketching.” Griggs here interposed with tidings that eggs and coffee were ready in the saloon, the worthy pair having had respect to the general famine, and prepared what could be made ready in haste. Those who had eaten ashore sat by, making an amusing account of their reception, and difficulties with language and peasants, for, this not being an ordinary place of call, nothing was ready for sale. Vera, finding herself for the first time in distinguished company, which desired to set her at ease, began to be at ease, and to desire to shine, so she giggled whenever she perceived the slightest excuse, even when Lord Ivinghoe handed her the eggs, and, hoped she had not too British an appetite for French eggs; and Lady Ivinghoe asked if she had seen the fowls, and whether their feathers were ruffled up like a hen’s that had been given to Aunt Cherry. Her little sister Joan, she added, had asked whether eating the eggs would make her hair curl. “Or stand on end,” said Phyllis. “As I am afraid Miss Prescott’s is doing till your telegram reaches her. Did you say it was to go from St. Malo?” “Yes. I thought that the safest place to have a comprehensible message copied.” “To whom did you say?” asked Lady Ivinghoe. “‘Delrio to Flight.’ Oh, they will know his name and address fast enough when it gets to Rock Quay.” “He is the clergyman at St. Kenelm’s,” put in Vera, in explanation; “very very advanced Ritualist, you know.” “Indeed!” was the answer.