“And she?”
“Don’t I tell you that I’m only her aunts’ chauffeur, and my tongue is tied? All the same, Sis—it’s beastly hard lines.”
“Then, Owen, you really ought to go away; you’ll soon forget her and Ottinge. I’ll find you another opening at once.”
“No, I won’t stir yet,” he answered doggedly.
“You are wrong, and on your head be it! I wish you could come out to America with us; but foreign countries are barred.”
“Why are you and Martin off there?” artfully changing the subject.
“Partly business—chiefly, indeed. He has not been well, and I can’t allow him to go alone; but, anyway, I’m looking forward to the trip. Tell me, how are you off for money?”
“All right; I fare sumptuously on a pound a week and washing extra.”
“I suppose you live on bacon? That’s to be my dinner.”
“Bacon—eggs—fowl—steak. Mrs. Hogben is a mother to me, and a real good sort.”