“I've called him so ever since I could speak. I think it was one of the first three words I learned. When you can say the same, you can call him Jimmie.”
“Well, how is Mr. Padgate?” the snubbed youth asked with due humility.
“You can never tell how a man is before breakfast. Why are n't you at work?”
He bowed to her sagacity, and in answer to her question explained the purport of his visit. He was going to spend the day sketching up the river. Would she put on her hat and come with him?
“A fine lot of sketching you'd do, if I did,” said Aline.
The young man vowed with fervour that as soon as he had settled down to a view he would work furiously and would not exchange a remark with her.
“Which would be very amusing for me,” retorted Aline. “No, I can't come. I'm far too busy. I've got to hunt up a model for the new picture.”
Tony leant back in his chair, dispirited, and began to protest. She laughed at his woeful face, and half yielding, questioned him about trains. He overwhelmed her with a rush of figures, then paused to give her time to recover. His eyes wandered to the breakfast-table, where lay Jimmie's unopened correspondence. One letter lay apart from the others. Tony took it up idly.
“Here's a letter come to the wrong house.”
“No; it is quite right,” said Aline.