“Unless we walk,” said Millie firmly.
“Do you mean to land at Stavanger?”
“How can you ask? I would land anywhere, even on a desert island. Besides, we have been reading somebody’s Best Tour, and according to that it is the right way of going into Norway. Once adopt a guide-book, you become its slave.”
“Then we shall be likely to jog along together, unless you object?” said Wareham, with a smile.
Millie looked at him with frank delight, her mother gave a quick glance, in which more mingled feelings might have been read. She made haste, however, to express her pleasure.
“I am not likely to object to an unexpected piece of good fortune, but I give you fair warning that, although I can get on by myself as well as most women, if there is a man at hand, I am pretty sure to turn over exacting carriole-drivers, or anybody making himself disagreeable, to him.”
“I am not alarmed. There are no exacting carriole-drivers in Norway, and you are more likely to over-pay than be over-charged. You will like the country.”
“I am going to enjoy it immensely,” said Millie, “when once I am there. This doesn’t count, does it? because, though I believe we are staring at lovely mountains, and there are rose-red sheds standing up against them, I feel too much humiliated to be enthusiastic, and my one longing is for tea. Besides, I am dreadfully cold.”
“Come to the other side of the ship,” said her mother briskly. “We shall see the town better, and be nearer our luggage.”
Wareham followed, he hardly knew why.