“Do you think I shall ever see you again?” she said.
“Should you like—?” he answered, with a sly smile and a faint shrug.
“I should like awfully—” a flush grew on her cheek. She heard Miss Pinnegar’s scarcely audible step approaching.
He nodded at her slightly, watching her fixedly, turning up the corners of his eyes slyly, his nose seeming slyly to sharpen.
“All right. Next week, eh? In the morning?”
“Do!” cried Alvina, as Miss Pinnegar came through the door. He glanced quickly over his shoulder.
“Oh!” cried Miss Pinnegar. “I couldn’t imagine who it was.” She eyed the young fellow sharply.
“Couldn’t you?” said Alvina. “We brought back these things.”
“Oh yes. Well—you’d better come into the other room, to the fire,” said Miss Pinnegar.
“I shall go along. Good-bye!” said Ciccio, and with a slight bow to Alvina, and a still slighter to Miss Pinnegar, he was out of the room and out of the front door, as if turning tail.