‘That’s a promise,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Where will you be?’
‘Ask Otto Radowitz! Good-bye.’
Her start of surprise pleased him. He approached Radowitz. ‘Shall I hear from you?’ he said stiffly.
‘Certainly!’ The boy looked up. ‘I will write to-morrow.’
The garden door had no sooner closed on Falloden than Radowitz threw himself back and went into a fit of laughter, curious, hollow laughter.
Sorell looked at him anxiously.
‘What’s the meaning of that, Otto?’
‘You’ll laugh, when you hear! Falloden and I are going to set up house together, in a cottage on Boar’s Hill—when we’ve found one. He’s going to read—and I’m to be allowed a piano, and a pianola. Queer, isn’t it?’
‘My dear Otto!’ cried Sorell, in dismay. ‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘Well, he offered it—said he’d come and look after me. I don’t know what possessed him—nor me either. I didn’t exactly accept. But I shall accept. Why shouldn’t I?’