"It's me, you see, Louie; here I am, like a bad penny, always turning up."
Louie spoke listlessly. "How are you? I'll get you some tea."
A minute later, with a "May I come in here?" he had followed her into the kitchen. He merely got in her way, if she could be said, in her complete exhaustion, to have a way at all. She was cutting bread and butter.
"Louie, old girl," he said piteously over the bread-board, "why didn't you—tell a fellow?"
Louie did not answer. Then Roy chirped up a little, as if something might now, past all discussion, be taken for granted.
"Well, this settles it," he said. "Clinches it entirely. You know what I mean."
Louie did know. "Just take the kettle off, will you?" she said.
"So you see that's settled—clinched," said Roy, quite bustling. "Right you are. The only question now is; how soon can you pack up."
"We'll talk about it presently, if there's anything to say. There isn't, though. Will you carry the tray in?"
Jimmy ran straight to his knee again. "May I give him some jam?" said Roy; and then he added to the boy: "Oh, come, don't mess yourself up with it like that!" Louie remembered his account of the accident with the centre-board: "Jam and all the lot!" but she did not smile.