“We will go across,” said Margaret.
“Of course we will. We older children will go, and we’ll take Nurse with us,”—with a bow towards Hennie Penny,—“and we’ll make a day of it, and have ices again at that place in the Arcade, and then we’ll go round the shops and clear them out for the benefit of Sark.”
“Ripping!” said Miss Penny.
They had already made one trip to Guernsey, crossing by the early Saturday boat and returning the same evening.
But that was a strictly business affair.
“We’re feeling frightfully fossilised at having bought nothing, except what we absolutely needed, for nearly a month,” said Miss Penny. “From that point of view I should imagine the Garden of Eden may have been just a trifle slow—”
“Ah, you see, Mother Eve hadn’t had the advantages of a superior education,” said Graeme.
“And there are some fripperies we simply must have,” said Miss Penny, “even for a runaway wedding like this. You see, when we decided to come here we had no idea how much farther we were going, and so we couldn’t possibly provide. Of course if we had known you were here—”
At which Margaret laughed.
“You would have provided accordingly,” said Graeme. “Well, you must put all the blame on to Mr. Pixley. I wonder what he would say if he knew all about it.”
“He would use language unadapted to prayer-meetings and public platforms,” said Miss Penny. “He can, you know, when he tries hard.”
“I imagined so. It will be rather amusing to see what he’ll do when he finds out.”
“He’ll do the very nastiest thing that is open to him, whatever that is, and poor Mrs. Pixley will have an exceedingly bad time. And he’ll probably have a fit on his own account.”
“Oh, we can hardly expect him to be so kind as all that—”
“The only one I’m sorry for is Charles Svendt. He’s really not half a bad sort, in his way, you know,” said Miss Penny.
“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid, under the circumstances, I can’t squeeze out any sympathy even for Charles Svendt.”
Arrived at St. Peter Port, the ladies permitted him to attend them to the door of the largest drapery establishment they could find, and then told him he was at liberty to go and enjoy himself for a couple of hours.
“Two hours? Good Heavens! What can you want in there for two hours?”
“Usual thing!” sparkled Miss Penny. “Tablecloths!”—with which cryptic utterance he had to be satisfied.
“And where do we meet again—if ever?”
“Hauteville House—Victor Hugo’s. It’s part of your honeymoon—a bit on account.”
“And whereabouts is it?”
“No idea. If we can find it, you can. Au revoir!”
He went first to get his hair cut, since the practice of the tonsorial art in Sark is still in the bowl-and-scissors stage.