"Old! Ah, no. Diego never was, never will be, old! Poor fellow! You would like Diego, if you knew him."
"You think so?"—very doubtfully—"however, we were not to talk about him. Let me take away your plate. And have you managed to enjoy your evening?"
"Well, no"—looking up at him with wistful eyes—"that is the truth. It is so terribly strange and lonely, I was thinking of stealing away when you asked me for that galop."
"Let us go and see Donald," exclaimed Wilton, abruptly rising. "His room opens on the other side of the conservatory, does it not?"
"But he is not there; he is gone to bed."
"Had he gone when you came away?"
"No; but he was quite worn out with his own crossness, and is, I hope, fast asleep by this time."
"Well, I am under the impression that he is still up."
"Did any one tell you? How very wrong. He ought to be in bed. I shall go and see."