"Well, then," she said, opening them again--"we tell her the day after to-morrow."
"That is the day you go?"
"Yes--I must go then. And may I say one thing?"
"May you? You may say everything but one."
"What is that?"
"That I have been dreaming all this to-night."
"No, you haven't been dreaming. It was all real."
"Then--what do you want to say?"
"That the little old white-haired lady is not to live alone. I'm going to live with her as much of the year as you'll let me--all of it if you will."
For one moment, he was silent--a moment of realisation, not of doubt.