‘If you wish it,’ he said. ‘You seem tired; take my arm. Do you mean just bulletins from the successive stages of the journey, or do you mean something more like letters?’
‘I mean letters. I should like them exceedingly. I hope you will write.’
‘I will write. And you–will you answer my letters?’
‘What news can I possibly have to send from here?’ said Sara, slowly.
‘Tell me what you do every hour, from the time you get up till the time you go to bed, if you have no other news. It is not fair that it should be all on one side. And if you are anxious for letters, what shall I be, do you suppose?’
‘I will write,’ said Sara, in a rather low tone.
‘That is decided, then. Now, do you mind coming into the house, for my time is short, and I want to tell you something about money-matters.’
They went into the house, sat down at the writing-table, and Herr Falkenberg from his breast-pocket drew forth a cheque-book.
‘Do you see this?’ he said. ‘I have left directions with them at the bank to honour all your cheques, so long as you don’t overdraw my private account,’ he added, smiling. ‘And this little book is to procure you the means of subsistence while I am away.’
‘I will not be extravagant,’ said Sara.