We both laugh at the
fruitlessness of her undertaking, and the joint merriment restores
suavity to me, and assurance to him.
"And are you to stay here by yourself _all_ the time he is away--_all_?"
"God forbid!" reply I, with devout force.
"Not? well, then--I am really afraid this is a question again, but I
cannot help it. If you will not volunteer information, I must ask for
it--who is to be your companion?"
"I suppose they will take turns," say I, relapsing into dejection, as I
think of the precarious nature of the society on which I depend;
"sometimes one, sometimes another, whichever can get away best--they
will take turns."
"And who is to have _the first_ turn?" he asks, leaning back in the
corner of the seat, so as to have a fuller view of my lamentable
profile; "when is the first installment of consolatory relatives to
arrive?"
"Algy and Barbara _were_ to have come to-day," reply I, feeling a covert
resentment against something of faintly _gibing_ in his tone, but being
conscious that it is not perceptible enough to justify another snub,
even if I had one ready, which I have not.
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