"Certainly not! I do hope he hasn't forgotten me? It would be extremely inconvenient."
She turned away and stood looking out of the window into the rain-sodden garden. Mr. Pryor lighted a cigar. After a while she spoke again. "You'll come soon? I hope you will come soon! I'll try not to worry you."
"Of course," he assured her; "but I trust your cook will be well next time, my dear."
"Give me a day's notice, and I will have another cook if Maggie should be under the weather," she answered eagerly.
"Oh, that reminds me," he said, and thrusting his hand into his pocket he went out to the kitchen. When he came back he went at once to the window, "I'm afraid that stage-driver has forgotten me," he said, frowning. But she reassured him—it really wasn't time yet; then she leaned her cheek on his shoulder.
"Do you think you can come in a fortnight, Lloyd? Come the first of
May, and everything shall be perfect. Will you?"
Laughing, he put a careless arm around her, then catching sight of the stage pulling up at the gate, turned away so quickly that she staggered a little.
"Ah!" he said in a relieved voice;—"beg your pardon, Nelly;—There's the stage!"
At the door he kissed her hurriedly; but she followed him, bareheaded, out into the mist, catching his hand as they went down the path.
"Good-by!" he called back from the hinged step of the stage. "Get along, driver, get along! I don't want to miss my train in Mercer. Good-by, my dear. Take care of yourself."