Penny could find no outside entranceway to the terrace. To Mrs. Deline’s horror and her father’s amusement, she climbed over the stone railing.
“Dad,” Penny began, ignoring the widow except for a curt nod, “I was just about ready to get out a search warrant for you.”
Mr. Parker drew another chair to the table for his daughter. Her hair was none too well combed, she wore no stockings, and the coat did not entirely cover her camp costume. By contrast Mrs. Deline was perfectly turned out in tailored tweed suit with a smart little hat of feathers. Though the woman said nothing, her gaze was scornful as she appraised Penny.
“What shall I order for you?” Mr. Parker asked, signaling a waiter.
“Nothing, thank you.” Penny was coldly polite. “I had a very fine lunch at camp, thanks to one of the rangers.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t get back,” Mr. Parker apologized. “It took a long while to have the stove repaired. Then I met Mrs. Deline and—”
“Oh, I understand,” Penny broke in. “The point is, when, if ever, are you coming back to camp?”
“Why, right now I suppose. We’ve finished our luncheon.”
The waiter had come to the table. Mr. Parker asked for the bill, paid it, and arose. As he bade Mrs. Deline goodbye, he remarked that he probably would see her again soon.
Walking to the hotel parking lot where Mr. Parker had left the car, neither he nor Penny had much to say. Not until they were driving through the village was the subject of Mrs. Deline mentioned.