Celeste, who always caught her tone from those around her, was one moment all smiles at one gay sally of Archie's, and the next sighing softly as her eye fell upon the grief-bowed young head of Louis. Miss Hagar sat by the fire knitting, as stiff, and solemn, and grave as usual.
"It will be a year—twelve whole months—before we all meet again," said Louis, with a sigh.
"Oh, dear!" said Celeste, her eyes filling with tears; "it will be so lonesome. It seems to me the time will never pass."
"Oh, it will pass—never fear," said Archie, in the confident tone of one who knows he is asserting a fact; "and we'll come back young collegians—decidedly fast young men—Mirabile dictu—that's Latin—and I'll marry you, sis. Oh, I forgot Gipsy."
Here Archie's face suddenly fell to a formidable length, and he heaved a sigh that would have inflated a balloon.
"Oh, if Gipsy were here it wouldn't be a bit lonesome—I mean, not so much. Minnette's going away, too," said Celeste, sadly.
"Well, you needn't care for her, I'm sure," said Archie, gruffly. "She's as sharp as a bottle of cayenne pepper, and as sour as an unripe crab-apple. For my part, I'm glad to be out of the way of her dagger-tongue."
"Oh, Archie, please don't," said Celeste, gently. "How do you know but she likes you now, after all?"
"Likes me? Oh, that's too good. Hold me, somebody, or I'll split!" exclaimed Archie, going off into an inextinguishable fit of laughter at the very idea.
Louis rose and went to the door; Celeste followed him, leaving Archie to recover from his laughter and expatiate to Miss Hagar on the pleasures and prospects he hoped to enjoy in Gotham.