"You know we always go for a walk late every afternoon—weather permitting or otherwise."
"Very well; this afternoon walk eastwards. You know the seat at the end of the Parade?"
"You mean, that one by the wall, which Gracie calls Our Seat?"
"Yes. Make your way there; walk to that, sit down and wait—till I come."
It dawned on him then: her intent. Admiration of her diplomacy found vent in the strains of "Rule, Britannia."
"Don't say anything, Dick. Promise me that. Not a word to Prince Charlie about—about—anything."
"But when you turn up at the seat, what am I to do? I suppose it will be a case of two's company, three's none?"
"Oh, you can go and pick shells and seaweed on the beach!"
"What! In the dark? Is thy brother a dog that he should do these things? I'll find my way back by myself. You think he'll see you home?"
"You can rely on it he will."