“Puts you at such a disadvantage with your child, for the youngster thinks freshly, doesn’t it, Mrs. Bryce?”
“I know mine thinks freshly—she’s a brat! I keep out of her way, myself,” remarked his hostess.
Presently dusk fell and still no signs of the child. Wally came back to telephone the police stations of the towns near them. He barely glanced at the laughing group on his terrace, but Mrs. Page spied him, and came to call out:
“Found her yet, Wally?”
“No.”
“Better come have your tea, Wally,” Mrs. Bryce suggested.
“Damn,” said Wally, under his breath, as he hurried into the house without any reply.
“Had we not better go? Aren’t you anxious, Mrs. Bryce?” inquired Christiansen.
“Oh, no; she’ll turn up.”