“Good-by, Will; I shall come to see you again soon; and my mother gives me a commission to buy I don’t know how many specimens of your craft.”
CHAPTER III.
A SMART pony-phaeton, with a box for a driver in livery equally smart, stood at the shop-door.
“Now, Mr. Chillingly,” said Mrs. Braefield, “it is my turn to run away with you; get in!”
“Eh!” murmured Kenelm, gazing at her with large dreamy eyes. “Is it possible?”
“Quite possible; get in. Coachman, home! Yes, Mr. Chillingly, you meet again that giddy creature whom you threatened to thrash; it would have served her right. I ought to feel so ashamed to recall myself to your recollection, and yet I am not a bit ashamed. I am proud to show you that I have turned out a steady, respectable woman, and, my husband tells me, a good wife.”
“You have only been six months married, I hear,” said Kenelm, dryly. “I hope your husband will say the same six years hence.”
“He will say the same sixty years hence, if we live as long.”
“How old is he now?”