"I'd rather stay on deck however cold it is.

The mother of the wee yellow-haired lassie is lying down already, evidently prepared to be ill.

The stewardess says we shall have a choppy passage.

She earns her tips, poor woman! Thanks, Vincent! Yes, I'd like the air-cushion, please, and that plaid out of the hold-all.

No, I won't have a biscuit now; I prefer to wait till we get on terra firma again." Irene, sitting warmly wrapped up on her deck-chair, watched the white cliffs of Dover recede from her gaze as the vessel left the port and steamed out into the Channel.