"Algy is going away to-morrow!" say I, presently.
"So he told me."
"This is his last evening here!" (in a rather dolorous tone).
"So I should gather," laughing a little at the obviousness of my last piece of information.
"And yet," say I, looking down through the clear water at a dead tree-bough lying at the bottom, and sighing, "he is going to dine out to-night—to dine with Mrs. Huntley."
"With Mrs. Huntley! when?" with a long-drawn whistle of intelligence.
"Tell me," cry I, impulsively, raising myself from my reclining pose, and sitting upright, "you will understand better than I do—perhaps it is my mistake—but, if you had seen a person only once for five or ten minutes, would you sign yourself 'Yours very sincerely' to them?"
He laughs dryly.
"Not unless I was writing after dinner—why?"
"Nothing—no reason!"