Thus adjured, Wareham departed. Gudvangen was sleepily interested, and the misadventure had happened before. He chose a good boat and two rowers, and going back to the little saal, found Anne making an excellent dinner.
“When one is cast away, it is prudent to chose a place with shops for the event,” she said. “I have made this an excuse for buying some delightful furs. Money I have none, but they trust me.”
“I have money,” said Wareham, hastily turning out his pockets, and unnecessarily ashamed of this fresh absence of foresight on his part. They could not reach Balholm before the middle of the night, and Anne’s wraps were on the steamer.
“Very well. Then you shall pay as we pass, and I will owe it to you instead.”
“Having brought you into the predicament, I think I might be allowed to provide the necessaries of life.”
“Do you mean that you are proposing to present me with a set of furs?” said Anne, laying down her fork and staring at him.
“Something you must have to keep you warm.”
“Mr Wareham, pray don’t make me begin to regret this incident.”
He saw that she was vexed, and dashed away from the subject.
“Poor old Hansen was mortally afraid we should want him to telephone something or other. I believe the telephone is sending him off his head. He would have sent out to look for us if a message had not come down from Stalheim just at the critical moment.”