“But I don’t want you to behave properly.”
“Oh! I am to keep that for London, am I? But, nevertheless, Captain Broughton, I will not invite you either to tea or to supper to-night.”
“Surely I may shake hands with your father.”
“Not to-night—not till—John, I may tell him, may I not? I must tell him at once.”
“Certainly,” said he.
“And then you shall see him to-morrow. Let me see—at what hour shall I bid you come?”
“To breakfast.”
“No, indeed. What on earth would your aunt do with her broiled turkey and the cold pie? I have got no cold pie for you.”
“I hate cold pie.”
“What a pity! But, John, I should be forced to leave you directly after breakfast. Come down—come down at two, or three; and then I will go back with you to Aunt Penelope. I must see her to-morrow;” and so at last the matter was settled, and the happy Captain, as he left her, was hardly resisted in his attempt to press her lips to his own.