“Yes; all right. So you won’t come, Vi?”
“No.”
“Quite made up your mind?”
“Quite, Willie.”
“That’s right—Willie,” said he, with a smile, and a nod of approbation. “I should so like to stay here a little longer, as you won’t come, and hear all the news, and tell you mine; but Aunt Dinah would lose patience—I’m afraid she has.”
“Yes, indeed; you had better go. Good-night, bear.”
“Good-night, wicked little Vi. Remember we meet at breakfast—shan’t we?”
“Oh, certainly. Good-night.”
“Good-night.”
And so the gray silk hood vanished, with a smile, prettily, round the corner, and William Maubray descended with his snuff to the drawing-room, with the pretty oval portrait of that young face still hovering before him in the air.