“Come now, everybody,” said Courtesy. “The launch’ll be starting in a minute.”
“But the suffragette’s not here,” said the gardener.
There was an instant’s blank as heavy as lead.
“Stuff and nonsense,” said Mrs. Rust. “I can’t wait here all day. If she wants to moon around and miss the boat, let her. I am going.”
She gave a hand each to two niggers, and sprang like a detachable earthquake into the launch.
“I think I ought to wait,” said Courtesy. “She’s a little shaky after yesterday, and you’re such an irresponsible boy, gardener. She may have fainted, while we were looking the other way. Or she may be in that crowd buying souvenirs.”
The gardener looked in the crowd for that well-known round hat with the faded flowers. But he knew that she would never buy a souvenir.
“You jump in, gardener. I’ll wait,” said Courtesy. “Perhaps there’ll be another launch.”
“Lars’ launch, missis, please,” said one of the mariners of the vessel in question.
“Come at once, girl,” said Mrs. Rust’s harsh voice from the stern.