She was answered by a look of devotion. “The truth is, there is something I want to say to Mr Wareham.”
“And you would rather I did not come?”
“No, no, not quite that. If you would start with us, and after a little time remember something which has to be done?”
“Oh, yes! I really ought to write to Horace.”
“And your mother will not mind your coming home by yourself?”
“Mind? No, no!”
“Then I leave it to you.”
“Oh, you may! Only—”
“What?”
“How am I to know when you wish me to take myself off?”