"Then I won't forgive you for saying horrid things, and thinking worse about my mother and sisters."
"Of course we might forget. But then that wouldn't be enough. So I can never marry you, Sidney—at least, not until Miss Sophy dies."
"She'll have to be jolly quick about it," said the young man fiercely.
"She is very kind and considerate," Nellie murmured doubtfully; trying to work out the algebraical problem. If a Giant Tortoise is hale and hearty at five hundred, and a Yellow Leaf is trying to inveigle a Mere Bud towards the matrimonial altar at ninety-something, what is the reasonable expectation of life of an old Lady who has nothing to die for?
"All this time," said Sidney, "grandfather is peering at us, while Teenie is simply goggling. We have got to pass them, and then—thank heaven!—we shall be alone."
"If I let you come with me—" she began.
"As if you could prevent it!"
"Will you stand up to George for me? Will you play the Dragon, and not get beaten?"
"Rather! I owe the saint one for his sermons."
But Sidney was not given the opportunity, for, when they reached Windward House, after wasting an extraordinary amount of time in climbing the hill, they found the place deserted; but the key was in the door, and a note lay on the table. They read it with explosions of sheer rapture.