"But there is something, Mrs. May. You must tell me, and I'll try to make it right."
"What shops are there here?" she asked by way of answer.
"Oh, you can buy photographs and souvenirs, and candy and drugs, I expect."
Angela shook her head. "I don't want to buy them. Do you think—I could find—a—a—nighty?"
"A 'nighty'?"
"A nightgown. You see, I've just remembered—the cascades and mountains made me forget—my dressing-bag was left behind with Kate. I've a frock or two, and the new khaki things for to-morrow, in my suit-case, but—nothing else. Brushes and combs and so on, I can get here I'm sure. But—would the shops—if any—run to nighties?"
"No," said Nick, gloomily. "I'm afraid they wouldn't, anyhow not the sort that deserves a nice pet name like that. But—I'll get you one."
"You can't," said Angela. "You can't create a 'nighty' or call it from the vasty deep."
"That's what I mean to do: call one from the vasty deep; hook it up like a rare fish."
She laughed. "What bait will you use?"