"But I have! We talked it all over when he was here. So you see we old people are not so blind as you think us. Now, you're dying to go to Emily, and I'm dying to have a nap. Let us oblige each other."
Mr. Prescott did not need a repetition of the hint. In the course of the next two minutes he was in the drawing-room; and the selections from Lucia, with which the piano was resounding, were suddenly stopped, and were heard no more until the advent of the old gentleman caused a necessity for candles and calm propriety. I do not think it is necessary for me to reproduce the dialogue which was carried on during the interval. It was very silly and very pleasant; perfectly easy to be imagined, and ought never to be described. Only one bit of it is worth preservation.
"Were you ever in love before, James?"
"Once, dearest; only once in my life." (If he had been the age of old Parr instead of six-and-twenty, he could not have said it with more earnestness.)
"And why did you not marry her?"
"It would not have done, darling. She was not of our grade in life. It would have been a wretched business. She felt that, and told me so."
"Poor girl, poor girl!" said little Emily; "I wonder where she is now!"
Prescott did not answer. He was too full of his present happiness to think of his former love, who was at that moment lying with her life's breath ebbing fast away.