“Maybe in a week, maybe in three weeks.”
“Have any letters come for Mr. Kellett—Captain Kel-lett?” said he, quickly correcting himself.
“No!”
And a bang of the window, as the head was withdrawn, finished the colloquy.
“That's pretty conclusive, any way, Bella,” said he, with an attempt to laugh. “I suppose there's no use in staying here longer. Poor child,” added he, as he watched her preparations against the storm, “you 'll be wet to the skin! I think we must take a car,—eh, Bella? I will take a car.” And he put an emphasis on the word that sounded like a firm resolve.
“No, no, papa; neither of us ever feared rain.”
“And, by George! it can't spoil our clothes, Bella,” said he, laughing with a degree of jocularity that sounded astonishing, even to himself; for he quickly added, “But I will have a car; wait a moment here, under the porch, and I 'll get one.”
And before she could interpose a word, he was off and away, at a speed that showed the vigor of a younger man.
“It won't do, Bella,” he said, as he came back again; “there's only one fellow on the stand, and he 'll not go under half a crown. I pushed him hard for one-and-sixpence, but he 'd not hear of it, and so I thought—that was, I knew well—you would be angry with me.”
“Of course, papa; it would be mere waste of money,” said she, hastily. “An hour's walk,—at most, an hour and a half,—and there's an end of it And now let us set out, for it is growing late.”