“Oh, Molly!” cried the boy, excitedly, beginning to repel his visitor, but ending by hugging her tightly in his arms.
“Got you again at last, dear,” cried the very boyishly-costumed young lady.
“Yes, but—oh, here’s a jolly shine!”
“Yes, dear, awful. But now I am come, don’t send me away from you. I feel as if we must part no more.”
“What are you talking about, pet?” cried the boy. “You must be off at once.”
“Oh, no, I shan’t. I’ve come, never to leave you any more.”
“You’re mad, Molly. A March hare isn’t in it with you. Auntie’ll be here directly.”
“Gammon! I met her ever so long ago, in the carriage and pair. She looked at me, and turned up her nose and sniffed.”
“Did she know you?”
“Not she. I should have been here before, only Lady Tilborough galloped by me on her pony, and I followed and saw her come in, and I’ve been hiding in the copse till she came away, for I knew she wouldn’t stop, as your aunt was out. As soon as she galloped off I came on. If it hadn’t been for that I should have been here before. So no fudge; everybody’s out, and we can talk. Oh, ain’t you jolly ready to get shut of me?”