“Perhaps you wouldn’t have liked it. Things happened, you know.”
“Why, what? Do tell me.”
“Well, you left your poor father alone, and he was moping all day on Tuesday. So on Tuesday night I had the happy idea of going out in the yacht to witness a sham night attack by the French Channel Squadron on Calais. I caught your honoured parent just as he was retiring to bed, and we went. He was only too glad. But we hadn’t left the harbour much more than an hour and a half when our engines broke down.”
“What fun! And at night, too!”
“Yes. Wasn’t it? The shaft was broken. So we didn’t see much of any night attack on Calais. Fortunately the weather was all that the weather ought to be when a ship’s engines break down. Still, it took us over forty hours to repair—over forty hours! I’m proud we were able to do the thing without being ignominiously towed into port. But I fear your father may have grown a little impatient, though we had excellent views of Ostend and Dunkirk, and the passing vessels were a constant diversion.”
“Was there plenty to eat?” Geraldine asked simply.
“Ample.”
“Then father wouldn’t really mind. When did you land?”
“About an hour ago. Your father did not expect you to-night, I fancy. He dressed and went straight to the tables. He has to make up for a night lost, you see.”
They danced in silence for a few moments, and then suddenly Geraldine said—