We both laugh at the fruitlessness of her undertaking, and the joint merriment restores suavity to me, and assurance to him.
"And are you to stay here by yourself _all_ the time he is away--_all_ ?" "God forbid!" reply I, with devout force.
"Not?
well, then--I am really afraid this is a question again, but I cannot help it.

If you will not volunteer information, I must ask for it--who is to be your companion ?" "I suppose they will take turns," say I, relapsing into dejection, as I think of the precarious nature of the society on which I depend; "sometimes one, sometimes another, whichever can get away best--they will take turns." "And who is to have the _first_ turn ?" he asks, leaning back in the corner of the seat, so as to have a fuller view of my lamentable profile; "when is the first installment of consolatory relatives to arrive ?" "Algy and Barbara _were_ to have come to-day," reply I, feeling a covert resentment against something of faintly _gibing_ in his tone, but being conscious that it is not perceptible enough to justify another snub, even if I had one ready, which I have not.
"And they did not ?" "Now is not that a silly question ?" cry I, tartly, venting the crossness born of my desolation on the only person within reach; "if they _had_, should I be sitting moping here with nobody but Vick to talk to ?" "You forget _me_! may I not run in couples even with a _dog_ ?" he asks, with a little bitter laugh.
"I did not forget you," reply I, coolly; "but you do not affect the question one way or another--you will be gone directly and--when you are--" "Thank you for the hint," he cries springing up, picking up his little stick off the grass and flushing.
"You are not going ?" cry I, eagerly, laying my hand on his coat-sleeve, "do not! why should you?
there is no hurry.

Let me have some one to help me to keep the ghosts at bay as long as I can!" then, with a dim consciousness of having said something rather _odd_, I add, reddening, "I shall be going in directly, and you may go then." He reseats himself.

A tiny air is ruffling the flower-beds, giving a separate soft good-night to each bloom.
"And what happened to Algy and Barbara ?" he says presently.
"Happened?
Nothing!" I answer, absently.
"Very brutal of Algy and Barbara, then!" he says, more in the way of a reflection than a remark.
"Very brutal of _father_, you should say!" reply I, roused by the thought of my parent to a fresh attack of active and lively resentment.
"I have no doubt I should if I knew him." "He would not let them come!" say I, explanatorily, "for what reason?
for _none_--he never has any reasons, or if he has, he does not give them.

I sometimes think" (laughing maliciously) "that _you_ will not be unlike him, when you grow old and gouty." "Thank you." "_You_ have no father, have you ?" continue I, presently; "no, I remember your telling me so at the Linkesches Bad.