“Ah, you have found that out, have you?”
“Yes, and I am rectifying the omission.”
“Good girl—clever, methodical girl.”
“Here is the bag, Mr Gray; I will come to fetch it early to-morrow.”
“Oh, you will, will you?”
“Certainly; expect me before eleven o’clock.” I bade Mr Gray good-night, and took an omnibus which presently conducted me to the neighbourhood of Paddington Station.
In course of time I got home. My father and George had arrived before me. It was quite contrary to the doctrines of our house for a woman to assert her independence in the way I was doing. My conduct in staying out in this unwarrantable fashion called forth contemptuous glances from my father, sighs of regret from my gentle mother, and sharp speeches from my brother George. I bore all with wonderful patience, and ran up-stairs to take off my things.
As I was arranging my thick hair before the glass, and giving a passing thought to my dear little sister Hetty’s curling brown locks, and remembering how deftly she had tried to arrange mine according to modern fashion, a knock came to my door, and George stood outside.
“You don’t deserve me to treat you with any confidence. You are the most curious mixture of childishness, folly, and obstinacy that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting,” he said in his cold voice; “but, nevertheless, as you were good enough to confide in me last night, and as your communication was of importance, you will be pleased to learn that I was able to persuade my father not to see Chillingfleet.”
“I am delighted,” I said, running up to George, and kissing him, very much against his will. “How did you manage it, George? Do tell me.”