“Glad you can be on deck.”
“Rather. I thought I’d croak in that hole of a stateroom.”
“Lot of people aboard we know. Mrs. Darlington, for one. Remember her in London?”
“Rather.”
“She’s dying to see ‘dear old Larry.’ Sit tight, she’s on her way now,” he added, in a lower voice.
Isabelle permitted herself a look. A tall, handsome woman was coming down the deck, with a swaying sort of walk that was fascinating. She was very smartly turned out. A rather fat man, with prominent eyes, accompanied her. They stopped beside Larry’s chair, and she exclaimed enthusiastically:
“How are you, old dear? They would not let me into your stateroom, or I should have been holding your hand, and giving Mrs. Grundy a treat.”
“Larry” got to his feet and accomplished a gallant bow.
“Awf’lly good of ye,” he said, smiling, holding her hand in his.