"He doesn't look like a man who could be so wholly lost to all sense of—of the fitness of things, Donald," she ventured, as one who would not be immitigably vindictive.
"He looks, and acts, like a wild ass of the desert!" Prime stormed, in a fresh access of resentment. And then: "You'd best go to bed and get what sleep you can. Heaven only knows what new piece of buffoonery will be sprung upon us to-morrow morning."
She looked up with the adorable little grimace, a copy of which he had long since resolved to wish upon his next and most bewitching heroine.
"I believe you are angry yet," she chided, half in mockery. "I like you best when you don't scowl so ferociously, Cousin Donald. You forget that we have agreed that it wasn't all bad. Good night." And she closed her door.
Turning out of his box-berth the next morning, Prime found the sun shining broadly in at the stateroom port-light. The motorboat was at rest and the machinery was stopped. A bath, a shave, and a complete change to fresh haberdashery made him feel somewhat less pugnacious, and stumbling up the companion to the cockpit he saw that the cruiser was tied up at a wharf on the river fringe of a considerable city; saw, also, that Lucetta, likewise renewed as to her outward appearance, was awaiting him.
"Where is Grider?" he demanded shortly.
"He has gone somewhere to get an auto to take us to a hotel."
"What city is this?"
"It is Ottawa. Don't you see the government buildings up there on the hill?"
Prime was silent for a moment. Then he said: "He needn't think he is going to smooth it all over by showing us a few little neighborly attentions. We are back in the good old civilized world once more, and we are not asking any favors of Watson Grider."