"How, Kingsley, dear?"
"Ah, howl" he said, vaguely, drumming on the table with his fingers.
"That," said Nansie, with pretty decision, "is what we have to consider."
"Of course, of course. We are considering it. Is it your opinion that the caravan idea is not practicable?"
"Yes, Kingsley."
"Then away it goes," said Kingsley, with the air of a man from whom a great weight of responsibility has been suddenly lifted; "away it goes, with the piano, and the nice furniture, and the birds, and the wild flowers in the summer woods. I take off my hat to the caravan, though," he added, with a tendency to relapse, "I shall always regret it; the life would have been so beautiful and pleasant."
"We will endeavor," said Nansie, tenderly, "to make our life so in another way."
"Certainly we will, my dearest," responded Kingsley, heartily. "There are a thousand ways."
And yet he looked about now with a slight distress in his manner, as though he could not see an open door. But he soon shook off the doubt, and the next minute was the same blithe, bright being he had always been.
"Let us go for a walk, Nansie," he said.