"Will the train never start, Lord Spunyarn? I'm afraid all this will upset my cousin; these partings are dreadful things after all."
"Think what my feelings must be, Miss Warrender. I, who have been congratulated by my friends over and over again in reference to my supposed good luck, and who will have now to face the fire of their chaff at my cruel rejection."
"Your lordship seems to bear it bravely enough."
"With profoundest equanimity, Miss Warrender. I leave the lady who has rejected me, in maiden meditation fancy free, at least, I suppose so; that thought is balm to my wounded soul. Hope, they say, springs eternal in the human breast. Miss Warrender may yet change her mind."
"She will not fail to let you know by telegram should that unlikely event occur, Lord Spunyarn."
"I'm afraid you've destroyed my future peace of mind. I now shall never hear a double knock with equanimity; depend upon it our time has not yet come."
"Yours has at all events, Lord Spunyarn, for if you don't get in you will certainly be left behind."
"Good-bye, then, Miss Warrender; parting is such sweet sorrow, I e'en could say good-bye until to-morrow."
"Now that is very sweet of you. I little thought you were Romeo still."
"Now and ever, Miss Warrender," said the young man with mock passion, as they laughingly shook hands, and he hastened to enter the carriage. "One thing I have forgotten, though," he said, "don't let your cousin see the Society papers."