"I had quite made up my mind that something had happened," continues she, not much abashed by his scorn; "and it was the greatest relief when I first caught sight of him at the station yesterday, looking just as usual, a little thinner perhaps—does not he strike you as a little thin? Has he been weighed lately? He gives me the idea of having lost a pound or two since I last saw him. Is there a weighing-machine in the hotel?"
"It will be very easy to ascertain."
"And how is Amelia?"—her cheerful eyes resting in friendly and half-inquisitive interest on his sombre face.
"Amelia is very well, thank you."
"Amelia Wilson still?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"—laughing—"another ten years, I suppose?"
"For three months, I believe; we are to be married as soon as they return to England."
"You do not say so?"—with an accent of lively and delighted incredulity—"hurrah! poor Amelia! 'Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre;' and she has su attendre with a vengeance, has not she?"
"She is not going to attendre any more," replies Jim dryly.