What else could I do? Or Tod, either.
It was nearly eleven o’clock when the party separated. The waggonettes held us all, and nice scrambling and crowding we had for seats. One of the vehicles, after setting down some of its freight—ourselves and the Miss Chandlers—continued its way to Duck Brook with Jane and Oliver Preen.
It was a lovely night. The moon had risen, and was flooding the earth with its soft light. Jane sat looking at it in romantic reverie. Suddenly it struck her that her brother was unusually still; he had not spoken a single word.
“How silent you are, Oliver. You are not asleep, are you?”
Oliver slowly raised his bent head. “Silent?” he repeated. “One can’t talk much after a tiring day such as this.”
“I think it must be getting on for twelve o’clock,” said Jane. “What a delightfully happy day it has been!”
“The one bad day of all my life,” groaned Oliver, in spirit. But he broke into the two lines, in pretended gaiety, that some one had sung on the box-seat of the waggonette when leaving Mrs. Cramp’s:
“For the best of all ways to lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear.”
III
“My Dear Sir,—Robert Derrick is getting troublesome. He has been here three times in as many days, pressing for ten pounds, the instalment of your debt now due to him. Will you be good enough to transmit it to me, that I may pay and get rid of him.