“You are a good little girl,” said Vizard, affectionately; “but I cannot.”
He hung his head despondently and muttered, “I see no way out either. But I yield to fate. I feared her, and fled from her. She has followed me. I can resist no more. I drift. Some men never know happiness. I shall have had a happy fortnight, at all events. I thank you, and respect you for your advice; but I can't take it. So now I suppose you will be too much offended to oblige me.”
“Oh dear, no.”
“Would you mind writing to Aunt Maitland, and saying you would like to take Zoe's place?”
“I will do it with pleasure to oblige you. Besides, it will be a fib, and it is so long since I have told a good fib. When shall I write?”
“Oh, about the end of the week.”
“Yes, that will be time enough. Miss Gale won't let her go till next week. Ah, after all, how nice and natural it is to be naughty! Fibs and flirtation, welcome home! This is the beauty of being good—and I shall recommend it to all my friends on this very account—you can always leave it off at a moment's notice, without any trouble. Now, naughtiness sticks to you like a burr.”
So, with no more ado, this new Mentor became Vizard's accomplice, and they agreed to get Zoe back before the Klosking could get strong enough to move with her physician's consent.
As the hamper of Madeira was landed in the hall of the “Swan” inn, a genial voice cried, “You are in luck.” Ashmead turned, and there was Poikilus peering at him from the doorway of the commercial room.
“What is the game now?” thought Ashmead. But what he said was, “Why, I know that face. I declare, it is the gent that treated me at Homburg. Bring in the hamper, Dick.” Then to Poikilus, “Have ye dined yet?”