“Oh!” Ellice said, “I thought—”
John laughed. He had a jolly laugh, a great hearty laugh that did one good to hear.
“What did you think she was, gipsy girl?” he asked, for “gipsy” was his pet name for the little dark beauty.
“Did you think she was some young and lovely damsel who was eager to meet me again?”
“I should hate her if she was!” the girl said, whereat John laughed again.
“Write to Helen, Con,” he said as he rose from the table, “and say we’ll come over to-morrow.” He paused, frowning, at thought. “I’ll manage it somehow. I’ll drive you over in the trap. It would be useful to have a car; I don’t know why I put off getting one.”
Constance did, and she smiled. “Wait till next year, dear.”
He nodded. “Yes, next year we’ll get one. Meanwhile write to Helen, and tell her we’ll be over to-morrow afternoon.”
“And I?” Ellice asked.
John looked at her. “Why—no, child, you’ll stop at home and look after the house, eh?” He nodded to them and went out.