Meg had departed in order to get things ready for the night, and he hung on in the hope that she would return. Vain hope; there was no sign of her.
He told the children all about William Bloomsbury and exacted promises that they would love him very much. He discussed, with many interruptions from Fay, who wanted all his attention, the entire countryside round about Wren's End; and, at last, as there seemed really no chance of that extraordinary girl's return, he
heaved his great length out of his chair and bade his hostess a reluctant farewell several times over.
In the passage he caught sight of Meg going from one room to another with her arms full of little garments.
"Ah," he cried, striding towards her. "Good night, Miss Morton. I hope we shall meet again soon," and he held out his hand.
Meg ignored the hand, her own arms were so full of clothes: "I'm afraid that's not likely," she said, with unfeeling cheerfulness. "We all go down to the country on Monday."
"Yes, yes, I know. Jolly part of the world it is, too. I expect I shall be thereabouts a good deal this summer, my relations positively swarm in that county."
"Good-bye," said Meg, and turned to go. Jan stood at the end of the passage, holding the door open.
"I say, Miss Morton, you'll try and like my William, won't you?"
"I like all sensible animals," was Meg's response, and she vanished into a bedroom.