"I'm coming," said the girl. "Don't be impatient."
A key turned in the lock, the door was flung open, and the skipper, dazed and blinking with the sudden light, stumbled into the room.
"Father's gone," said Miss Pilbeam.
The skipper made no answer. He was administering first aid to a right leg which had temporarily forgotten how to perform its duties, varied with slaps and pinches at a left which had gone to sleep. At intervals he turned a red-rimmed and reproachful eye on Miss Pilbeam.
"You want a wash and some breakfast," she said, softly, "especially a wash. There's water and a towel, and while you're making yourself tidy I'll be getting breakfast."
The skipper hobbled to the wash-stand, and, dipping his head in a basin of cool water, began to feel himself again. By the time he had done his hair in the sergeant's glass and twisted his moustache into shape he felt better still, and he went downstairs almost blithely.
"I'm very sorry it was your father," he said, as he took a seat at the table. "Very."
"That's why you laughed, I suppose?" said the girl, tossing her head.