“I want to see Mr. Rodney,” said Endymion moodily.
“Can I write anything to him, or tell him anything?” said Imogene.
“No,” continued Endymion in a melancholy tone. “I can tell you what I wanted to say. But you must be occupied now, going away, and unexpectedly, to-morrow. It seems to me that every one is going away.”
“Well, we have lost the prince, certainly,” said Imogene, “and I doubt whether his rooms will be ever let again.”
“Indeed!” said Endymion.
“Well, I only know what Mr. Waldershare tells me. He says that Mr. Rodney and Mr. Vigo have made a great speculation, and gained a great deal of money; but Mr. Rodney never speaks to me of such matters, nor indeed does Sylvia. I am myself very sorry that the prince has gone, for he interested me much.”
“Well, I should think Mr. Rodney would not be very sorry to get rid of me then,” said Endymion.
“O Mr. Ferrars! why should you say or think such things! I am sure that my brother and sister, and indeed every one in this house, always consider your comfort and welfare before any other object.”
“Yes,” said Endymion, “you have all been most kind to me, and that makes me more wretched at the prospect of leaving you.”
“But there is no prospect of that?”