“No, sir, in my own name, and for myself, waiting Mr. Dunn's good pleasure to confirm the sale in the way I have told you.”
“Indeed!” exclaimed he, looking with an unfeigned admiration at a young girl capable of such rapid and decisive action, “so that you really may consider yourself its owner.”
“I do consider myself its owner,” was her calm reply.
“Then pray excuse my officiousness in this sealing up. I hope you will pardon my indiscreet zeal.”
She smiled without answering, and the blood mounted to Mr. Hankes's face and forehead till they were crimson. He, too, felt that there was a game between them, and was beginning to distrust his “hand.”
“Are we to be travelling-companions, Mr. Hankes?” asked she. And though nothing was said in actual words, there was that in the voice and manner of the speaker that made the question run thus: “Are we, after what we have just seen of each other, to journey together?”
“Well, if you really wish me to confess the truth, Miss Kellett, I must own I am rather afraid of my head along these mountain paths,—a sort of faintness, a rushing of blood to the brain, and a confusion; in short, Nature never meant me for a chamois-hunter, and I should bring no credit on your training of me.”
“Your resolve is all the wiser, sir, and so to our next meeting.” She waved him a half-familiar, half-cold farewell, and left the room.
Mr. Hankes saw her leave the town, and he loitered about the street till he could mark two mounted figures ascending the mountain. He then ordered a chaise to the door with all speed.
“Will you take it now, sir, or send for it, as you said at first?” asked the innkeeper, as he stood with the oak box in his hands.