Miss Vickers swept and dusted, cooked and scrubbed, undisturbed, and so
peaceable was his demeanour when he returned from a walk one morning, and
found the front room being "turned out," that she departed from her usual
custom and explained the necessities of the case at some length.
"I dare say it'll be the better for it," said the captain.
"O' course it will," retorted Selina. "You don't think I'd do it for
pleasure, do you? I thought you'd sit out in the garden, and of course
it must come on to rain."
The captain said it didn't matter.
"Joseph," said Miss Vickers, as she squeezed a wet cloth into her pail--
"Joseph's got a nice leg. It's healing very slow."
The captain, halting by the kitchen door, said he was sorry to hear it.
"Though there's worse things than bad legs," continued Miss Vickers,
soaping her scrubbing-brush mechanically; "being lost at sea, for
instance."
Captain Bowers made no reply. Adopting the idea that all roads lead to
Rome, Miss Vickers had, during her stay at Dialstone Lane, made many
indirect attempts to introduce the subject of the treasure-seekers.
"I suppose those gentlemen are drowned?" she said, bending down and
scrubbing noisily.
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