“He came and apologised. He was—oh, Larry!—almost broken-hearted. I—what a heartless wretch I’ve been!”
“You’re my sweet sweetin’,” Larry answered tenderly, “an’ that’s all you need get botherin’ about at present. I must take this blusterin’ pirate home to his mother, but I’m comin’ back this evenin’, so don’t you go runnin’ to church or any nonsense of that kind. An’ when we’ve settled our own future moorin’s, we’ll see what we can do for Debbie an’ old Laker.”
“I’m very much afraid we can’t do anything,” Verity said sadly. “There’s something there I don’t understand, and the only person who is in the least likely to know is most certainly not in the least likely to help. I mean Mr. Callander.”
“Why not, old dear?”
“Because he’s in love with Deborah himself.”
Larry whistled with understanding as he scrambled to his seat.
“So there’s another broken heart goin’ beggin’?” he observed cheerfully. “It’s gettin’ to be quite the fashion, isn’t it, darlin’? I’m sure I hope it’s consolin’ to old Grant!”
“Oh, Larry!” Verity smiled reproachfully, and went round to bid Augustus good-bye.
“Shake hands, Mr. Cupid!” she coaxed. And Augustus shook hands.