“Yes. Mr. Neston——?”
“Yes, Mrs. Witt? Why don’t you come too.”
“At any rate, you’d—you and your friends—be somebody to speak to, wouldn’t you?” said Neaera, resting her chin on her hand and gazing at George.
“Oh yes, you must come. We shall be very jolly.”
“Poor us! But perhaps it will console us to mingle our tears.”
“Will you come?” asked George.
“I shan’t tell you,” she said with a laugh. “It must be purely accidental.”
“A fortuitous concurrence? Very well. We go to-morrow.”
“I don’t want to know when you go.”