"Tell me."
"Twenty times I was near telling you in my letters; but I stopped. I tried to get it done, to give it you to-day, but I couldn't; and—and perhaps it was that made me vexed with you."
"Very likely," said Will, who thoroughly understood the charming byways of Dove's logic.
"It is a worsted waistcoat," she said, in a solemn whisper, "all knitted by myself. And I've put in some of my hair, so that you never could see it unless I showed it to you. They say that to give any one some of your hair is so unlucky—that it always means parting; but I couldn't help putting in just a little."
"To represent a little parting—from Saturday to Monday, for example."
"Are you going up to town again to-morrow?" she said, with fresh alarm.
"The doctor says I ought; but we shall see when to-morrow comes."
So peace was established between them. It was only as an afterthought she remembered that he had never once kissed her.
During dinner, Will was almost silent. They supposed he was tired with the journey home. When Mrs. Anerley and Dove had left the room, he knew the time was come.
"I have bad news for you, father," he said.