“I do.”
They then spoke of other things—of the shop, the profit they had made on tomatoes, and the losses that had resulted from over-stocking themselves with flour. At last a loud snore brought the conversation to a full stop, and Frank hurriedly bade them good-night.
“Cissy will let you out,” said Willy, with a sigh of relief.
The little girl had pulled on her stockings and tied a petticoat round her waist. “So you are going to be married.”
“O Cissy, you have been listening!”
“Is she very nice? She must be very nice for you to marry her. I should like to marry you.”
“Would you, Cissy, and why?”
“Oh, because you are so very handsome. But you will come and see us all the same, and let me sit on your knee?”
“Of course I will, Cissy, and now good-night.”
Next morning Willy declared himself ready to go and see Mr. Charles Stracey, and to tell him that he was not to call any more at the Manor House, or speak to Miss Brookes if he should happen to meet her. Frank wondered if this decision was owing to Mrs. Brookes's influence.