“It’s seven years six months and a week to-day since I left,” says Fred.
“Why, how exact you are in your dates!” smiles the young lady.
“It was on the eighteenth of June,” replies Fred. “I recollect it because it was on the twenty-first that I first met you.”
He had not meant to say this, and blushes when it escapes him, and for the next minute or two he occupies himself with his plate. So does the young lady with hers.
Then the talk drifts off to other subjects, and the party fall to sketching out the programme of their new life in London. Jack is to be home to tea every evening at seven, and as Jack’s father has not to leave for his newspaper office till eight, the little family will at any rate get one hour a day together. And as soon as the spring comes Miss Mary is going to convert the little strip of garden behind into a second paradise, and Mr Fred, if he pleases, may come and help her. Indeed, it is taken for granted that, although his lodging is away in a street hard by, he is to be considered as free of this house and one of the family; as also is Billy, provided he does not call Jack “bloke,” and attends diligently to the instructions Miss Mary promises to give him two evenings a week.
In due time dinner is ended, and the little party once more congregate round the parlour fire. Scarcely have they assembled when there is a ring at the door, and next moment a cheery gentleman called Doubleday is announced. Every one welcomes the visitor warmly, and room is made for him in the magic circle.
“Thought I’d call and pay my respects,” says Mr Doubleday, bobbing to the ladies. “Jolly snug little box you’ve got here, too.”
“Yes, it is snug,” says Jack.
“Glad to see you settled down before I go,” says the other. “Settled down both here and at Hawk Street too, eh?”
“I’m awfully sorry you’re going abroad,” says Jack, “we shall miss you badly.”