"That I may bray no more in your hearing, I will wish you good-night." And again he held out his hand to the old man.
His uncle took hold of his hand, but he did not go through the process of shaking it, nor did he at once let it go again. He held it there for a time, looking stedfastly into his nephew's face, and then he dropped it. "You had better sit down and drink your wine," he said at last.
"I had rather return to town," said George, stoutly.
"And I had rather you stayed here," said his uncle, in a tone of voice that for him was good-humoured. "Come, you need not be in a pet, like a child. Stay where you are now, and if you don't like to come again, why you can stay away."
As this was said in the manner of a request, George did again sit down. "It will be foolish to make a fuss about it," said he to himself; "and what he says is true. I need not come again, and I will not." So he sat down and again sipped his wine.
"So you saw Caroline at Jerusalem?" said the old man, after a pause of about twenty minutes.
"Yes, I met her with Miss Baker. But who told you?"
"Who told me? Why, Miss Baker, of course. They were both here for a week after their return."
"Here in this house?"
"Why shouldn't they be here in this house? Miss Baker is usually here three or four times every year."