“I can’t find it,” he said at length, addressing himself to the bedroom window.
“No. I was coming down to tell you,” said Miss Boom, glancing sedately at him from over the geraniums. “I remember seeing father take it out with him this morning.”
Tarrell affected a clumsy surprise. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “How nice your geraniums are.”
“Yes, they’re all right,” said Miss Boom briefly.
“I can’t think how you keep ’em so nice,” said Tarrell.
“Well, don’t try,” said Miss Boom kindly. “You’d better go back and tell father about the pouch. Perhaps he’s waiting for a smoke all this time.”
“There’s no hurry,” said the young man; “perhaps he’s found it.”
“Well, I can’t stop to talk,” said the girl; “I’m busy reading.”
With these heartless words she withdrew into the room, and the discomfited swain, only too conscious of the sorry figure he cut, went slowly back to the harbour, to be met by Mr. Boom with a wink of aggravating and portentous dimensions.
“You’ve took a long time,” he said slyly. “There’s nothing like a little scheming in these things.”