"the novel will go all the better for it, eh, Vaughan?"

Derrick brightened visibly at the suggestion. I heard him talking
to Freda all the time that Sir John stood laughing and joking as to
the comparative pleasures of yachting and shooting.

"You will be there too?" Derrick asked.

"I can't tell," said Freda, and there was a shade of sadness in her
tone. Her voice was deeper than most women's voices--a rich
contralto with something striking and individual about it. I could
hear her quite plainly; but Derrick spoke less distinctly--he always
had a bad trick of mumbling.

"You see I am the youngest," she said, "and I am not really 'out.'
Perhaps my mother will wish one of the elder ones to go; but I half
think they are already engaged for September, so after all I may
have a chance."

Inaudible remark from my friend.

"Yes, I came here because my sisters did not care to leave London
till the end of the season," replied the clear contralto. "It has
been a perfect cruise. I shall remember it all my life."

After that, nothing more was audible; but I imagine Derrick must
have hazarded a more personal question, and that Freda had admitted
that it was not only the actual sailing she should remember. At any
rate her face when I caught sight of it again made me think of the
girl described in the 'Biglow Papers':