“Apparently he’s in,” said Mr. Linton, resignedly, getting up. “Come on, Wally—and Jean, too.”
“We’ve been lost—at least, we were until we found each other,” said Wally. “We came to the conclusion that none of you Billabong people were left in this little inn. Jean would probably have cried if I hadn’t been crying—as it was, she felt she couldn’t, which was very rough on her. Mr. Linton, do I know you well enough——”
“For most things,” said the squatter, laughing!
“——To mention that I am hungry?” finished Wally, unmoved. “My last nourishment was at twelve o’clock, and it’s nearly seven now; and theatres in this benighted district begin before eight when they’re pantomimes!”
Mr. Linton uttered an exclamation.
“I declare, I’d forgotten all about either dinner or pantomime!” he said. “Thank you, Wally—I’m obliged to you. Where’s my coat? I hope all the rest of you are ready.”
“Are we going to the pantomime, Dad?” Norah’s eyes were dancing.
“Jim says so,” said her father, laughing. “I’m in his hands.” He caught up his coat, while Jean and Norah hugged each other in silent ecstasy. “Now, hurry up, all of you!”
Downstairs, the big dining-room brought back Norah’s shyness anew. She felt suddenly very young—infinitely younger than Jim and Wally, tall and immaculate in their evening clothes, although, as a rule, they seemed no older than herself. She kept close to her father’s wing, greatly envying Jean’s apparent calm.
The huge room was crowded. It was full of tables of varying sizes, not one of which seemed unoccupied—until a waiter, catching Mr. Linton’s eye, hurried up and led them to a corner, where a round table was reserved for them. It commanded an excellent view of the room, and the sight was a little bewildering to the two schoolgirls.