“Surprised, and well.”
“I have come to see you. I could not get on any longer without you.”
“How did you discover me? Come and have tea now.”
Her sitting-room was very pleasant, the usual hotel adornments had vanished. There was peace; and they sat and talked until it was time to dress for dinner.
“Propriety,” said Launa, “demands that you should dine downstairs, and I in my sitting-room alone; but the claims of propriety are not imperious. We will dine together.”
Wainbridge felt perfectly happy, perfectly content; Launa was feeling soothed and lulled by the sensation that someone cared excessively for her. It was so desolate to be always alone, and she wanted someone to take care of her.
For the rest of the week they met every day, and spent it together skating. As Mr. Wainbridge could not waltz on skates she taught him.
“This is a sort of honeymoon,” he said.
“Without any bother. Honeymoons are troublesome.”
“That depends on the moon and the honey. I like it in the comb.”