"I—I—suppose we have," assented the visitor mechanically.
"I daresay you know Mr. Salwey?"
"Yes; we were at Harrow together. I was his fag, and he used to lick me for not cleaning his boots! I also knew him in India."
"He is on his way home now."
"So I hear," rising as he spoke. "Well, I am afraid I ought to be on my way home too. I am staying down the river."
"I hope you will come and look us up again, and meet your old school-fellow," said Lady Ida. "You will generally find us here at tea-time. We are always glad to see Verona's friends."
"Oh, thank you very much." Then he suddenly shook hands, gave the young lady one glance, and without another word took his departure. Presently the door below was heard to slam.
Verona went to the balcony, and gazed after the retreating figure. He walked rapidly for an invalid—his quick footfall had an impatient ring—and as he passed out of sight she heaved a little sigh.
"My dear child! what is the meaning of this?" enquired her aunt, placing two hands heavily on her shoulders, "gazing after a young man, and sighing like—I don't know what!"
"I am only looking after him—to see the last of an old love affair."