“Drop me at the nearest point to the station,” he said.
“I am afraid,” she began—“I mean I think you had better get out soon. The first road on the right will take you straight there, and we had better not pass it.”
“Then I must bid you farewell,” and he sighed most effectively. “Farewell, my benefactress, my dear Alicia! Shall I ever see you, shall I ever hear of you again?”
“I might—I might just write once; if you will answer it: I mean if you would care to hear from such a——”
She found it difficult to finish, and prudently stopped.
“Thanks,” he replied cheerfully; “do,—I shall live in hopes. I’d better stop the carriage now.”
He let down the window, when she said hastily, “But I don’t know your address.”
He reflected for an instant. “Care of the Archbishop of York will always find me,” he replied; and as if unwilling to let his emotion be observed, he immediately [pg 60] put his head out of the window and called on the coachman to stop.
“Good-bye,” he whispered, tenderly, squeezing her fingers with one hand and opening the door with the other.
“Don’t quite forget me,” she whispered back.