My sister went on, checking the names on her fingers. “There was old Mrs. Bennett, and that boy from the farm with the bad finger, Dolly Grice to have a needle out of her finger; that American steward off the liner. Let me see⁠—that’s four. Yes, and old George Evans with his ulcer. And lastly⁠—”

She paused significantly.

“Well?”

Caroline brought out her climax triumphantly. She hissed it in the most approved style⁠—aided by the fortunate number of s ’s at her disposal.

“ Miss Russell! ”