Chapter Five.
The Effects of the Sail.
“Look sharp! Father doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Don’t stop to do anything but change your wet things. That’s your room. You can look right away and see Mull one side and Skye the other.”
Kenneth half pushed his visitor into a bed-room, banged the door, and went off at a run, leaving Max Blande standing helpless and troubled just inside, and heartily wishing he was at home in Russell Square.
Not that the place was uncomfortable, for it was well furnished, but he was tired and faint for want of food; everything was strange; the wind and sea were playing a mournful duet outside—an air in a natural key which seemed at that moment more depressing than a midnight band or organ in Bloomsbury on a foggy night.
But he had no time for thinking. Expecting every moment to hear the gong sound again, and in nervous dread of keeping his host waiting, he hurriedly changed, and was a long way on towards ready when there was a bang at the door.
“May I come in?” shouted Kenneth. But he did not say it till he had opened the door and was well inside.
“Oh, your hair will do,” he continued. “You should have had it cut short. It’s better for bathing. Old Donald cuts mine. He shall do yours. No, no; don’t stop to put your things straight. Why, hallo! what are you doing?”
“Only taking a little scent for my handkerchief.”
“Oh my! Why, you’re not a girl! Come along. Father’s so particular about my being in at dinner. He don’t mind any other time.”