'I go back to town by the mail train to-night, to Liverpool to-morrow. I could not go without telling you; and when I tried to write, I felt I must see you and this place again. But you are going out.'
'We were, but we shall be glad to get off.'
'To Centry? Is she there?'
'Yes. Going early to-morrow.'
Before Ferdinand had done more than stare into the fire, Lance opened the door. 'Mr. Flowerdew wants—Holloa! Fernan dropped from the skies!'
'Is Mr Flowerdew there?' said Felix, about to pass him.
'No; he only wants you to write up to Novello's.—Do you hear, Fernan? we are to have such a concert in the town hall, for a real good organ. Edgar will bring down no end of stars for it. You'll come down for it?'
'Fernan will be in the utmost parts of America by that time, Lance.'
'Look here, Lance,' said Fernan—that dark sad countenance lighting as it sometimes did—'just you wait a fortnight, and I can all but promise you—'
'An organ by Atlantic cable, eh?' said Felix, laughing. 'Look at Lance, Fernan; he'd hardly thank you. It is the concert they want; the organ is the excuse.'