"Poor old Gerry," she said; "he won't take me, will he, father?"
"Impossible, my dear—absolutely. You surely don't want to go."
"No, not particularly."
Valentine yawned with admirable effect.
"She really can't care for him at all. What a wonderful piece of luck," muttered her father.
"I daresay Gerald will enjoy Sydney," continued his wife. "Is he likely to be long away?"
"Perhaps six months—perhaps not so long. Time is always a matter of some uncertainty in cases of this kind."
"I could come back to you while he is away, couldn't I, dad?"
"Why, of course, my dear one, I always intended that. It would be old times over again—old times over again for you and your father, Valentine."
"Not quite, I think," replied Valentine. "We can't go back really. Things happen, and we can't undo them. Do you know, father, I think Gerald must have infected me with his headache. If you don't mind, I'll go home."