Mr. Hammond blew his nose loudly.
“Well, darling, I am glad you are here. Yes, I’m delighted; but don’t get it into your head that you have established a precedent. No, ma’am!”
“All right, precious. Now comb your hair; it looks all rat-taily. And take your bicarb; it is long past time for breakfast. I’m starved. That small suitcase is mine. I took your things out of it and put them all in your other one. You are a rotten packer, daddy. Please move the man in the next stateroom out when you get round to it. I’ll take it.”
“Do you mean,” said Mr. Hammond, grimly wagging a finger at the suitcase, “that you had this all cooked up yesterday?”
“Oh, for weeks, daddy darling. Did you honestly think I would consider letting you come alone? I’m surprised. I’m starved, too. What an appetite this nice high air gives one!”
“Come on to breakfast then,” Mr. Hammond groaned. “Let’s get it over with!”
“I don’t see any reason for you to be embarrassed, if I am not,” said Dulcie, doing a little careful work with a lipstick. “It was frightfully embarrassing for me to be left at home like a little girl.”
“Too bad!” growled Mr. Hammond, a twinkle in his eye that belied the tone. “Too bad! Well, gimme that infernal soda, and let’s go.”
“What’s in there?” said Dulcie, pointing to a large box on a chair. “Koko seems to think it’s something to eat. He nearly tore the paper.”
“He’s a smart little beggar,” said Mr. Hammond, in an offhand manner. “Oh, yes, that’s yours, that box. Candy—thought you might like to have it.”