“Come where? Why for a sail. Wind’s just right. Jump in.”
Duncan Leslie looked grave, but he brightened a little as he heard what followed.
“Oh no, Harry.”
As she spoke, Louise Vine glanced at her companion, in whose face she read an eager look of acquiescence in the proposed trip, which changed instantly to one of agreement with her negative.
“There, Vic. Told you so. Taken all our trouble for nothing.”
“But, Harry—”
“Oh, all right,” he cried, interrupting her, in an ill-used tone. “Just like girls. Here’s our last day before we go back to the confounded grindstone. We’ve got the boat, the weather’s lovely; we’ve been looking for you everywhere, and it’s ‘Oh no, Harry!’ And Madelaine looking as if it would be too shocking to go for a sail.”
“We don’t like to disappoint you,” said Madelaine, “but—”
“But you’d rather stay ashore,” said the young man shortly. “Never mind, Vic, old chap, we’ll go alone, and have a good smoke. Cheerful, isn’t it? I say, Uncle Luke, you’re quite right.”
“First time you ever thought so then,” said the old man shortly.