"Out."
He pauses.
"Not out of your mind, I hope?"
"Don't be too sure."
"Well, wait, and I'll go with you," says she, glancing at the stand in the hall where her garden hat is generally to be found.
"Not to-day," says Gower; "you mustn't come with me to-day. I'm going out on business."
"Business!"
Mr. Gower and business seem so very far apart.
"Gruesome business," repeats he, dropping his voice to a whisper. "I'm going with my aunt—'my dear, unmarried aunt.' It's my last chance. I shall do or die to-day, or else"—an afterthought striking him—"she will."
"Where are you going with her?"