“No,” he answered in that ill-at-ease voice with which he—and that as rarely as might be—alluded to his marriage. “I gave mine up when I married.”
“I hope she made it worth your while,” was the worldly wise reflection of the listener; but on her sweet little face appeared only the expression of an intuitive sympathy. The subject was evidently not a much-relished one; and yet it would be disagreeable to her companion to see that she had discovered the fact; it must be gently glided away from.
“So I am to be taken to see an empty house—four bare walls?” she pouted, with a charming protrusion of her nether lip.
He laughed, in sheer irrational pleasure at the prettiness of the contortion.
“On the contrary, the friends to whom Camilla has lent it while their own house is being rebuilt find themselves inconveniently thick upon the ground.”
“Are there ten of them? and do they live upon gigots à l’eau?” cried she, alluding to what he had told her of the full-quivered land-agent on their way home from church.
“No, there are only three young Aylmers—only two at home, unless Toby came back last night.”
“Toby? Who is Toby?”
“Toby is the precious only son.”
That decided her. “I should like it of all things!” she cried. “May I come as I am, or must I make myself frightful, à l’Anglaise?” She held her arms straight down a little way from her sides and “invited inspection.”