"But when shall we see you again, Paul? or how shall we hear of you?"
"I'll write to you."
"Where?"
"At the Post–office in Rathbone Place. Don't bother me with a lot of questions to–night Lavinia; I'm not in the humour to answer them."
Paul Marchmont turned away from his sister impatiently, and opened the gate; but before she had driven off, he went back to her.
"Shake hands, Lavinia," he said; "shake hands, my dear; it may be a long time before you and I meet again."
He bent down and kissed his sister.
"Drive home as fast as you can, and send the messenger directly. He had better come to the door of the lobby, near Olivia's room. Where is Olivia, by–the–bye? Is she still with the stepdaughter she loves so dearly?"
"No; she went to Swampington early in the afternoon. A fly was ordered from the Black Bull, and she went away in it."
"So much the better," answered Mr. Marchmont. "Good night, Lavinia. Don't let my mother think ill of me. I tried to do the best I could to make her happy. Good–bye."