“There, Mister Richard again,” he cried, catching her in his arms.
“Then Dick, dear Dick, there must be no more of this, I shall never be able to hold my face up in the place again.”
“Stuff!” he cried, “come along.”
“No, no,” she sobbed. “I’m going straight home now.”
“Just as you like,” he said, cavalierly, and he took out his cigar-case.
“Don’t be angry with me, Dick, please; for I’m so unhappy,” sobbed the girl.
“You’ve got nothing to be unhappy about, I’m sure,” he said. “It’s only what, I told you. The old woman won’t stand it, and we shall have to make a bolt. You see it now yourself.”
“Ah, but father—mother, Dick.”
“They’ll soon come round, like my old lady will.”
“But I couldn’t go, Dick, dear Dick. Do pray speak to father.”