“Oh, a week,” said Ethel viciously. “He said he was motoring in the neighbourhood, and mother asked him to stay a week. She likes him. He’s got three cars and a lot of money, and he can talk the hind leg off a donkey, and she likes him. All I can say,” bitterly, “is that I’m going to have a nice week!”
“What about a shilling?” said William, returning to the more important subject. “Look here, ’f you lend me a shilling now I’ll give you a shilling an’ a penny when I get my pocket money on Saturday. I’ll not forget. A shilling an’ a penny for a shilling. I should think you’d call it a bargain.”
“Well, I wouldn’t,” said Ethel, “and I wish you’d go—away.”
“I don’t call you very gen’rous, Ethel,” said William loftily.
“No, and I’m not likely to be generous or feel generous with that man in the house,” said Ethel.
William was silent. He was silent for quite a long time. William’s silences generally meant something.
“S’pose,” he said at last, “s’pose he went to-morrow, would you feel generous then?”
“I would,” said Ethel recklessly. “I’d feel it quite up to two shillings in that case. But he won’t go. Don’t you think it! And-will-you-go away?”
William went, rather to her surprise, without demur.