"My dear old chap, you've done something to upset the lady's apple-cart; you'll have a letter telling you all about it in the morning."
"I hope so, but I doubt it; I might have known I was feeling too much bucked up. You know she never said exactly yes; she sort of let me take it for granted, and perhaps I took it a little too much for granted; I feel that perhaps that's how it is. But if she's off with me, I'm done--clean. She could make a man of me, even the kind of article the governor thinks a man; but no one else could. If she won't have me, I shall emigrate, that's what I shall do; I shall go to one of those cheery spots where you get knocked out by blackwater fever, or sleeping sickness, or something nice of that sort, three months after you've landed."
Notice being given that dinner was ready, Rodney led Stella into the private room in which it was to be served cheerfully enough, bestowing on her admiring glances and whispering what he meant to be sweet things into her pretty ear as they went.
"My hat! that's a duck of a frock you're arrayed in; you do look scrumptious."
"I'm glad you think so."
The maid's manner was a trifle prim; she plainly wished him to understand that she was still a little out with him. He smiled at her.
"I don't know what you're laughing at."
"Would you rather I cried?"
"I'm afraid poor Tom feels like crying. Isn't it strange Mary not coming, and sending no message, or anything--nothing to explain? Have you heard how she treated Tom?"
They had reached the dinner-table, and were settling themselves in their places.