“GOOD morning, Dad.” Norah came out upon the wide portico of the hotel; a cool, fresh vision in a white linen frock.
“Good morning, my girl,” said her father. There was a line between his brows. “Have you seen the boys?”
“No—aren’t they down yet?”
“I don’t know where they are,” David Linton said. “They don’t seem to be in the hotel.”
“Oh, they’re bathing!” said Norah, with comfortable certainty. “It’s such a hot morning—I wanted ever so much to go myself, only I woke so disgracefully late.”
“No, they’re not bathing. I’ve been down, and there was no sign of them. I suppose they have gone out somewhere. They might at least get back in time for breakfast.”
“They won’t be long, you may be sure,” Norah answered. “I never saw such hungry boys! Let’s go in, Daddy; it’s late, and you ought to have your breakfast. The boys will turn up before we are half done.”
“Oh, I suppose they’re all right!” her father said, leading the way to their table. “They are quite big enough to look after themselves at any rate; if they miss breakfast it’s their own look-out.”
“Jim won’t miss breakfast,” said Jim’s sister. “What he has may be queer, but he’ll have something. I expect they’ve gone for a tram ride or a rickshaw trip, Daddy, and it has taken longer than they expected; if they find themselves too far from home when they get hungry, they’ll buy something.”
“I suppose so.” Mr. Linton beckoned to a waiter. “Tell the young gentlemen, if you see them, that we’re at breakfast.”