“I am not surprised,” she said. “Indeed, I felt sure of it, from his not having written again.”
“He is pretty certain to be in this neighbourhood before the winter,” added Archie, “and then, of course.” But he hesitated. It was not his place to assure Mrs Derwent that her old friend would look her up.
“Yes; then, of course, I shall see him,” she said, finishing the sentence for him. “But I think perhaps I will write, as, no doubt, Mr Dunstan, you can give me his present address.”
“Certainly I can,” the young man replied. “That’s to say, I can give you the Cannes address, and from there his letters are sure to be forwarded.”
Just then Herty reappeared, carefully carrying a plateful of buttered toast.
“There were no tea-cakes,” he said apologetically; “so Aline and me have been making this.”
“Buttered toast in July!” exclaimed Stasy contemptuously. “And you look as if you’d been toasting your face too, Herty; you’re as red as a turkey-cock.”
Herty’s beaming face clouded over.
“I thought you’d like it so much,” he said. “You generally do, Stasy.”
“Of course we like it,” said Blanche, as she began to pour out the tea.