Presently Salwey expressed a hope that "there was some tea left for him? Being as you know," turning to his aunt, "a thoroughly domesticated character."
"And pray, how did you leave England?" he inquired, now addressing himself directly to Verona.
"I left it with some regret," she answered, with a smile. "It was August, you know."
"Ah, August is my favourite month," he remarked, as he carefully selected a lump of sugar.
"Yes, you impostor!" said his aunt. "You would like Miss Chandos to suppose that you are thinking of gorgeous sunsets, and harvest homes, and early autumn tints. My dear, the truth is, he is thinking of the shooting."
"Well, I have not been able to do anything but think of it for some years. Pray, who is the owner of this pretty thing?" he asked, as he stooped to pick up a little gold pencil-case.
Verona held out her hand. "Yes, is it not pretty? I got it at the Army and Navy Stores."
"Oh, the Stores! They are painfully associated in my mind with wedding presents—I have put in some bad quarters-of-an-hour there."
"Yes, it's a ready-money place," suggested his aunt with a sly smile.
"Oh, that was not it—thanks awfully for the insinuation—it was the worry of thinking, and making up my mind."