’ ‘Fiddle,’ scoffed Miss Froxfield. But finding his hints totally disregarded, he, at length, swaggered up to the table, and thrust in a chair. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. But her request was unheeded. Our ideal had fallen. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. Capes—the ‘Capes crave,’ they would call it in America.
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