"I can understand that," said Tollemache. "I believe I should go dotty if married to a woman I really loved, and I lost her."
Yvonne darted into a shop to buy caramels. She had to escape somehow. When she emerged one side of her face was bulging, and she held out a cardboard box.
"Take one," she gurgled. Not yet twenty, she was sufficient of a woman to play a part when it suited her. By the time the two had joined Ingersoll they were boy and girl again, and the curtain, lifted for an instant on a tragedy, had fallen.
Tollemache, searching for some commonplace remark to relieve the tension of his own feelings, noticed the drift of smoke curling from a cottage chimney.
"What has happened to the wind?" he said.
"It has veered to the southeast, Monsieur," answered Peridot.
"I thought something of the sort had taken place, but was so busy that I did not pay any heed," said Ingersoll. Then his forehead wrinkled reflectively. "Southeast from southwest," he muttered. "On a rising tide that change should kick up a nasty sea. Is the return trip quite safe, Peridot?"
"The sea will be a trifle worse, Monsieur; but we'll travel on an even keel."
"And be swept by an occasional wave from stem to stern?"
"I've heard of such things," grinned Peridot.