“Good-by, then,” she said, “or rather, au revoir. We shall look in to-morrow. Come, Malcolm.”
“I say, Mal!” cried Stephen, rising hurriedly. “You won’t tell anyone about—”
“Steve!” interrupted his sister.
Malcolm, about to utter a languid sarcasm, caught his mother’s look, and remained silent. Another meaning glance, and his manner changed.
“All right, Steve, old man,” he said. “Good-by and good luck. Caroline, awfully glad we had the spin this afternoon. We must have more. Just what you and Steve need. At your service any time. If there is anything I can do in any way to—er—you understand—call on me, won’t you? Ready, Mater?”
The pair were shown out by Edwards. On the way home in the car Mrs. Corcoran Dunn lectured her son severely.
“Have you no common sense?” she demanded. “Couldn’t you see that the girl would have told me everything if you hadn’t laughed, like an idiot?”
The young man laughed again.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, “it was enough to make a wooden Indian laugh. The old jay with the barnacles telling us about the advantages of a sailor’s life. And Steve’s face! Ho! ho!”
His mother snorted disgust. “If you had brains,” she declared, “you would have understood what he meant by saying that the sea was the place to learn what to unlearn. He was hitting at you. Was it necessary to insult him the first time you and he exchanged a word?”