Toff still remained in the room, as if he had something left to say. Entirely ignorant of the marriage engagement between Amelius and Regina, and of the rupture in which it had ended, he vaguely suspected nevertheless that his master might have fallen into an entanglement with some lady unknown. The opportunity of putting the question was now before him. He risked it in a studiously modest form.
“Are you going to America to be married, sir?”
Amelius eyed him with a momentary suspicion. “What has put that in your head?” he asked.
“I don’t know, sir,” Toff answered humbly—“unless it was my own vivid imagination. Would there be anything very wonderful in a gentleman of your age and appearance conducting some charming person to the altar?”
Amelius was conquered once more; he smiled faintly. “Enough of your nonsense, Toff! I shall never be married—understand that.”
Toff’s withered old face brightened slyly. He turned away to withdraw; hesitated; and suddenly went back to his master.
“Have you any occasion for my services, sir, for an hour or two?” he asked.
“No. Be back before I go out, myself—be back at three o’clock.”
“Thank you, sir. My little boy is below, if you want anything in my absence.”
The little boy dutifully attending Toff to the gate, observed with grave surprise that his father snapped his fingers gaily at starting, and hummed the first bars of the Marseillaise. “Something is going to happen,” said Toff’s boy, on his way back to the house.