“And only met a goddess in the dell,” said Pratt.
And the two young men returned to breakfast.
A Ceremonious Call.
“How could I be such an ass as to ask them down?” said Trevor, aloud, as he stood at the dining-room window directly after lunch.
“And then such an ass as to say so out loud?” said a voice behind him; Frank Pratt having returned to the room, and his footsteps being inaudible on the thick Turkey carpet.
“Ah, Frank?” said Trevor, turning sharply, “you there!”
“Yes, sir,” said Pratt, solemnly, “I am here—for the present. Will you have the goodness to order a carriage, or a cart, or something, to convey my portmanteau to Saint Kitt’s, and I’ll be off by the night train.”
“Be off—night train—what the deuce do you mean?”
“Mean? Why, that you were just accusing yourself of being a fool for firing me down; and—”