“Perhaps not,” said I; and yet I knew that I had seen it.
I would, therefore, have preferred to walk without Sophonisba; but that now was impossible. So I determined that I would utilise the occasion by telling her of my present purpose. I had resolved to start on the following day, and it was now necessary to make my friends understand that it was not in my power to extend to them any further pecuniary assistance.
Sophonisba, when we were on the hill, seemed to have forgotten the box, and to be willing that I should forget it also. But this was impossible. When, therefore, she told me how sweet it was to escape from that terrible woman, and leaned on my arm with all the freedom of old acquaintance, I was obliged to cut short the pleasure of the moment.
“I hope your father has written that letter,” said I.
“He means to write it from Milan. We know you want to get on, so we purpose to leave here the day after to-morrow.”
“Oh!” said I thinking of the bill immediately, and remembering that Mrs. Greene had insisted on having champagne for dinner.
“And if anything more is to be done about the nasty box, it may be done there,” continued Sophonisba.
“But I must go to-morrow,” said I, “at 5 a.m.”
“Nonsense,” said Sophonisba. “Go to-morrow, when I,—I mean we,—are going on the next day!”
“And I might as well explain,” said I, gently dropping the hand that was on my arm, “that I find,—I find it will be impossible for me—to—to—”