"As to my obeying you," said Otterburn, reverting to the earlier part of the conversation, "I think the opposite is more likely to happen."
Dangerous ground again.
"Mr. Macjean," said Victoria in a solemn tone, "the night is getting on to morning, the tourists are getting off to bed. You are chattering in a most nonsensical manner and I'm going to retire, so good-night."
He did not make any effort to retain her, although he felt very much inclined to do so, but then their friendship was still in its infancy and the proprieties must be observed.
"Good-night, and happy dreams," he replied, shaking the hand she held out to him.
"Thank you, but I leave that to poets--and lovers," she responded, and thereupon vanished like a fairy vision of eternal youth.
And lovers.
"Now I wonder--oh, nonsense! What rubbish! I've only known her one circle of the clock; Love isn't Jonah's gourd to spring up in a night. Still--well she's a most delightful girl and I--Confound the valse! I do wish they'd stop playing at this hour. It isn't respectable. Awfully pretty!--and she's a Macjean too--ah, if I--bother, it's gone out. I shan't smoke any more. I wonder where Gartney is. Mooning about by himself, I suppose. I'll go and look him up. She's got lovely eyes and such pretty feet. Eh! oh, here's Eustace--I say Gartney, I'm going to bed. Come and have a hock and seltzer before ta-ta."