“Safe?” said Inna.
“Yes; booked with his patients, you know. Some say he has patients on the brain. I wish them joy of him.”
“Don’t—don’t you like him?” she inquired falteringly.
“Do you?” asked the other, helping himself to an egg.
“I ought.”
“Ought! I can’t bear that word ought: ’tis dinned into my ears morning, noon, and night. Now, I tell you what we’ll do: we’ll fling ‘ought’ to the winds, and go a nutting expedition this morning.”
In came Mrs. Grant.
“Well, Master Oscar, I should hope you’d go down to Mr. Fane’s for lessons to-day,” said she.
[p39]
“I can’t; I’ve a prior engagement,” said he, as loftily as a mouth full of bread and butter and egg could utter it.
“And what’s that, may I ask?”