“Mind you make the coffee extra well to-day, old Sanna,” called out Wyvern, as she turned back to the kitchen.
“Now help me, darling,” said the girl, as they sat down to table. “It is delightful, being all to ourselves like this. Isn’t it?”
“Heavenly,” he answered, dropping a hand upon hers, to the detriment of any speedy compliance with her last injunction. “But how did you manage to get away alone?”
“Father’s gone to a sale at the Krumi Post. He won’t be back till to-morrow.”
Wyvern’s face clouded.
“Has he? That accounts for it. Do you know, dearest, he seems to have changed towards me. Not over anxious for you to see too much of me in these days. Well, I know what that is going to mean.”
“Hush—hush! I am going to have some serious talk with you presently, but—not now. At table that sort of thing interferes with digestion I believe.”
Wyvern dropped his knife and fork, and looked at her fixedly.
“That means—trouble,” he said, a world of bitterness in his tone and face.
“No—no. It doesn’t. Perhaps quite the reverse. So be reassured!—and trust me. Now tell me. What have you been doing with yourself since we last met?”