"Down—down a great—very great way in the West."
Anthony stared.
She replied to the look: "In the West of London—a long way down."
"That's where he is?"
"Yes."
"I thought—hum!" went the old man suspiciously. When am I to see him?
Some day?"
"Yes; some day."
"Didn't I say, Sunday?"
"Next Sunday?"—Dahlia gave a muffled cry.
"Yes, next Sunday. Day after to-morrow. And I'll write off to-morrow, and ease th' old farmer's heart, and Rhoda 'll be proud for you. She don't care about gentleman—or no gentleman. More do th' old farmer. It's let us, live and die respectable, and not disgrace father nor mother. Old-fashioned's best-fashioned about them things, I think. Come, you bring him—your husband—to me on Sunday, if you object to my callin' on you. Make up your mind to."