I always like to get a professional opinion on the ship's run." In the evening, as Mrs.March was putting away in her portfolio the journal-letter which she was writing to send back from Plymouth to her children, Miss Triscoe drifted to the place where she sat at their table in the dining-room by a coincidence which they both respected as casual.
"We had quite a literary dinner," she remarked, hovering for a moment near the chair which she later sank into.

"It must have made you feel very much at home.

Or perhaps you're so tired of it at home that you don't talk about books." "We always talk shop, in some form or other," said Mrs.March.

"My husband never tires of it.

A good many of the contributors come to us, you know." "It must be delightful," said the girl.