“No, no, my good fellow; we don’t want attendance at present. Thank you all the same, however.”
Oscar, Reginald’s great Newfoundland, came bounding round now to his master’s side. He had been hunting rats and rabbits. The embrace he gave his master was rough, but none the less sincere. Then he lay down by his feet, on guard, as it were; for a dog is ever suspicious.
Annie was very silent and very sad. Reginald drew her towards him, and she rested her head on his shoulder. But tears bedimmed her blue eyes, and a word of sympathy would have caused her to burst into a fit of weeping that would probably have been hysterical in its nature. So Reginald tried to appear unconcerned.
They sat in silence thus for some time. The silence of lovers is certainly golden.
Presently, bright, neatly-dressed Fanny came tripping round, holding in advance of her a silver salver.
“A letter, sir,” she said, smiling.
Reginald took it slowly from the salver, and his hand shook visibly.
“Annie,” he said, somewhat sadly, “I believe this contains my sailing orders.”