“But there will be times when you will want to get rid of her. You won’t want to give up travelling, will you?”
“Couldn’t she come with me?”
“You can’t conceive, dear, the trouble a woman is travelling. You would hate to have to think of some one else—another place to find in a crowded train—another person’s luggage to look after—another ticket to lose—you would hate it.”
“Then I shan’t travel.”
“But surely it would be easier to send Diana to Elsie than to do that.”
“I detest that woman—”
“She has—nice eyes. You are a dear old thing, Marcus, and not a bit changed.”
“I never change.”
Marcus waited all day. Diana did not come. He was disappointed. It showed a want of reverence for the older on the part of the younger generation. At last he went to bed with a volume of Rabelais to read (in order to keep up his French). He read until he grew sleepy. He put out the light and slept until a flash of light awoke him and he wondered—What was this thing sitting on the end of his bed in white—a being so slim and so exquisite!
“Darling! the same old Marcus,” the being exclaimed,—“so sleepy and I woke him up. I couldn’t wait to see him—such years since we met!”