"Oh, will you?" he cried, delighted. "I would be glad."
"I've seen no one but Dr. Pottow, you know; not even my oldest, dearest friends. Not my own people."
His smile was rapturous.
"I know it," he said. "Have you heard what you are called here? No? Well, you are 'the mysterious widow of Bath.'"
"Isn't that funny?" she laughed. "Fancy how dull I have been! You will come and amuse me, won't you, Gerald?"
"Every day. And if ever I bore you, or you'd rather not see me, say so. You'll do that?"
"I'll do that. And"—she hesitated just an instant—"and you mustn't neglect your sheep or your freestone, you know. If you don't come I'll know a lamb has strayed from the fold and you're out on the hill looking for it. Do you carry a crook?"
"My shepherds do," he said solemnly.
"Send me some south-down mutton, Gerald. I'm so fond of chops." And at that he laughed.
"I'm not going to be teased," he said and stood up. But Nina made him sit down again. She was enjoying his call so much. She made him stay another hour.