“Meshy, and good for the grinders of old hosses, I dares to say.
“Something of the sort. It’s the harvest that age reaps from the broad-cast of youth. But we are keeping Mrs. McBrain waiting. Stephen will take one less back with him, than he brought, my dear lady.”
“I trust not. Mr. McBrain has given me reason to hope for the pleasure of your company. Your nephew has carried off my daughter; the least you can do is to come and console me.”
“What is then to become of that dear, but unfortunate young lady?” glancing towards Mildred.
“She goes with her relatives, the Millingtons. Next week, we are all to meet at Rattletrap, you know.”
The next week the meeting took place, as appointed.
“Here I am,” cried Dunscomb, “truly and finally a bachelor, again. Now for the reign of misrule, negligence, and bad housekeeping. Sarah has left me; and John has left me; and Rattletrap will soon become the chosen seat of discomfort and cynicism.”
“Never the last, I should think,” answered Madame de Larocheforte, gaily, “as long as you are its master. But why should you dwell alone here, in your declining years—why may I not come and be your housekeeper.”
“The offer is tempting, coming, as it does, from one who cannot keep house for herself. But you think of returning to Europe, I believe?”
“Never—or not so long as my own country is so indulgent to us women!”