“At some fair, I suppose, or horse-race; or, goodness knows where,” answered the girl.
“I was going to ask you whether there was an affair of the heart,” said her aunt. “But there does not seem much material; and what was the subject? Though I can’t hear it all, you may tell me what it was to be about.”
“About fifty things, or nothings. There’s no one on earth, auntie, darling, but you I can talk anything over with; and I’ll write, or, if you let me, come again for a day or two, very soon—may I?”
“Of course, no,” said her aunt gaily. “But we are not to be quite alone, all the time, mind. There are people who would not forgive me if I were to do anything so selfish, but I promise you ample time to talk—you and I to ourselves; and now that I think, I should like to hear by the post, if you will write and say anything you like. You may be quite sure nobody shall hear a word about it.”
By this time they had got to the hall-door.
“I’m sure of that, darling,” and she kissed the kind old lady.
“And are you quite sure you would not like a servant to travel with you; he could sit beside the driver?”
“No, dear auntie, my trusty old Dulcibella sits inside to take care of me.”
“Well, dear, are you quite sure? I should not miss him the least.”
“Quite, dear aunt, I assure you.”