"Hallo!" said Joe. "I say, you're not off, are you? What's up?"
"That's what I'm going to find out," was the reply. "I believe it's
another of their dodges to lure me inside my turret. Good-bye, Miss
Betty. Don't forget to read up the book of the words--in case of
complications. . . . Good-bye!" The Indiarubber Man departed down one
of the steep paths that led to the lower road and the landing-place.
The brother and sister turned and walked slowly back to the house.
Their conversation on the way was confined to speculation on the part
of Joe as to the reason for this sudden recall. His theories covered a
wide range of possibilities. Only when they reached the house did
Betty volunteer a remark, and then in the privacy of her own room,
whose window looked out across the harbour and the sea.
"Oh, I hate the War," she said. "I hate it, I _hate_ it. . . ."
[1] Paying calls.
V