"And find that their father had just started for Paris?" replied her husband. "And then think of the expense. Here, they are much nearer at hand if they have to be fetched back to England."
Mrs. Marton was silent. Suddenly another idea struck her. She started up.
"Supposing Captain Bertram has come to the station since we left," she exclaimed. "He may be there now."
Mr. Marton gave a little laugh.
"No fear," he said "Every official in the place knows the whole story. I managed to explain it, and told them to send him over here."
"And what are you thinking of doing, then? Where can we leave them?"
Mr. Marton looked at his watch.
"That's just the point," he said. "We've only three hours unless we put off till the night express, and that is running it too fine. Any little detention and we might miss the boat."
"We've run it too fine already, I fear," said Mrs. Marton dolefully. "It's been my fault, Phillip—the wanting to stay in England till the last minute."
"It's Susan Lacy's fault, or Bertram's fault, or both our faults for being too good-natured," said Mr. Marton gloomily. "But that's not the question now. I don't think we should put off going, for—another reason—it would leave us no time to look up Bertram at Marseilles. Only if we had had a few hours, I could have found some decent people to leave the children with here, some good 'pension,' or——"