“What a pity! You might see him now, if you really wanted to.”
I wouldn’t notice such a frivolous remark.
Dinner over, we went out on the veranda, as usual, and General Stuart dropped into a chair beside me.
“I really thought you rather liked Dan Grey, but it seems I was mistaken. And you really don’t want to see him? Sad—I must tell him and condole with him.”
I tried to bury myself in a book I was reading, and to pay no attention to him. A miserable old book it was—Children of the Abbey, or something like it—that I had picked up somewhere at Mr. Bradford’s. Hereafter, if I write “Aunt Sally’s” instead of Mr. Bradford’s, please understand that one and the same place is meant. Aunt Sally was Mr. Bradford’s wife, and I reckon the first term best describes the place.
“You wouldn’t really rather have Dan Grey sitting here in this chair beside you than me?” continued my tease.
I lifted to him eyes wet with vexation and longing.
“I’ll make you smile now!” he said. “Do you want to see Dan?”
“Yes, I do. I want to see him dreadfully, but I am not going to tell you so again.”
“You will if I command you to, won’t you? If you are in the cavalry I am your superior officer, you know. I can even make Dan mind what I say, can’t I? If you are refractory, I can command Dan to bring you to terms.”