Frederick St. John rose. "I think we shall be late, Georgina."
"Shall we! I shall say it was your fault," cried the happy girl, as she caught up her white mantle and straw hat from a chair. "I'm ready now."
"Won't you put your cloak on?"
"No. I am only taking it to come back in tonight. You may carry it for me."
She placed it on his arm; and with her face shaded only by her little dainty parasol, they went out. Mrs. Carleton was at one of the other windows watching the departure.
"Do you know the time, Georgina?" he asked.
"Oh--more than five, I suppose."
He held his watch towards her. It wanted only twenty-five minutes to six. "Of course you can say it is my fault if you like; but Mrs. Beauclerc will be excessively angry with both of us."
"Not as angry as Miss Denison will be," returned Georgina, laughingly. "Fanciful old creature! saying she gets indigestion if she dines later than half-past five. If I were papa, I should let her dine alone, and order the regular dinner at seven. See how quickly she'd come to her senses."
"If you were your papa you'd do just as he does" cried Frederick. "And when you have a house of your own, Georgina, you will be just as courteous as he is."