“Sometimes I think it’s all gammon,” said Harry, as he went slowly down-stairs, and out into the garden, “and sometimes it seems as if it would be very jolly. I dare say the old woman is right, and—”
“What are you talking about—muttering aside like the wicked man on the stage?”
“Hullo, Vic! You there?”
“Yes, clear boy. I’m here for want of somewhere better.”
“Consult your friend!” Aunt Margaret’s last words.
“Been having a cigar?”
“I’ve been hanging about here this last hour. How is it she hasn’t been for a walk?”
“Louie? Don’t know. Here, let’s go down under the cliff, and have a talk over a pipe.”
“The latter, if you like; never mind the former. Yes, I will; for I want a few words of a sort.”
“What about?” said Harry, as they strolled away.