‘Well, you won’t think he looks any the better for his holiday,’ she said at last, with an attempt at a laugh. ‘And of course he’s doing ten times too much work. Hang work! I loathe work: I want to “do nothing for ever and ever.”’
‘Why don’t you set about it, then?’ laughed Connie.
‘Because⸺’ Nora began impetuously; and then shut her lips. She diverged to the subject of Mr. Pryce. They had not seen or heard anything of him for weeks, she said, till he had paid them an evening call, the night before—the first evening of the new term.
Connie interrupted.
‘Oh, but that reminds me,’ she said eagerly. ‘I’ve got an awfully nice letter—to-day—from Lord Glaramara. Mr. Pryce is to go up and see him.’
Nora whistled.
‘You have! Well, that settles it. He’ll now graciously allow himself to propose. And then we shall all pretend to be greatly astonished. Alice will cry, and mother will say, “She never expected to lose her daughter so soon”—etc. What a humbug everybody is!’ said the child, bitterly, with more emphasis than grammar.
‘But suppose he doesn’t get anything!’ cried Connie, alarmed at such a sudden jump from the possible to the certain.
‘Oh, but he will! He’s the kind of person that gets things,’ said Nora contemptuously. ‘Well, we wanted a bit of good news!’
Connie jumped at the opening.