Fiona suddenly said, "Mr. Manson, could you sail a boat from Cornwall to Brittany quite easily? I mean, if your boat had an engine as well as sails?"
Miss Grey's fork landed on the floor with a clatter. Mr. Manson bent and picked it up, and the ever-watchful Geneviève padded round to her with another. "Don't ask me anything about boats, Fiona," said Mr. Manson. "I personally couldn't sail a boat across St. Brioc bay. But I imagine that those young men who sail boats could do a trip like that quite easily. Miss Grey, you know everything, do you know about sailing from Cornwall to France?"
"Oh no, Mr. Manson," said Miss Grey. "Mumsie and I could scarcely rise to yachting."
Mr. Manson broke the rather embarrassed silence which followed this remark. "Why, Fiona? Were you thinking of sailing back to school?"
Fiona laughed. "Hardly," she said. "I'm a rotten sailor, I get sea-sick."
"You weren't sick on the steamer coming over, were you?" said Miss Grey.
"Not quite," said Fiona, "but that was a nice big steady boat and I had bottles of sea-sick remedy."
Geneviève handed round crêpes Suzette, miracles of crisp deliciousness.
"And what were you thinking of doing this afternoon?" Mr. Manson said.
"Sleeping, I should think," said Fiona. "After such heavenly food."
From THE MOOCHERS ABROAD, Chapter 6, A Great Light Dawns.