“I thought there’d be no one here!” Cheviot said with satisfaction, as he held open the door.
“Isn’t the boat ready to take us back?” Hildegarde asked.
“I suppose,” said her father, leaning heavily on his stick and looking at her from under his bushy eyebrows, “you think we’ve got hotels over yonder.”
“Oh, no.”
“There isn’t even a boarding-house—”
“Mrs. L’Estrange will be glad! She’s going to set up the very thing, and make her everlasting fortune.”
“Well, I’m glad”—Mar dropped into the nearest seat—“very glad you’re a sensible girl and take it like that.”
Imagine his thinking she’d come expecting a hotel and all the comforts of home! That was why he seemed so harassed. “Poor father!” She put an arm about his crooked shoulders. It had been hard for him to make his way over the chaos of the beach, and he had got so wet coming out. How thoughtful of that dear Louis to bring him in here to rest before undertaking the return trip.
The old man crossed his wrinkled hands on the knob of his heavy stick and slowly shook his head. “No, Nome wasn’t Paradise before, but since the invasion it’s a hell upon earth.”