She looks a little troubled at first; but, after a moment or two, her face regains its usual serene sweetness.
"And I have been here ever since you left me!" she says, presently, with a look of soft gayety.

"I have had _no_ visitors! Not even"-- (blushing a little)--"the usual one." "No ?" say I, bending down my head over Vick, and allowing her to have a better and more thorough lick at the bridge of my nose than she has ever enjoyed in her life before.
"_You_ did not meet him, I suppose ?" she says, interrogatively.
"_I!_" cry I, starting guiltily, and stammering.

"Not I! Why--why should I ?" "Why should not you, rather ?" she says, laughing a little.

"It is not such a _very_ unusual occurrence ?" "Do you think not ?" I say, in a voice whose trembling is painfully perceptible to myself.

"You do not think I--I--" ("You do not think I meet him on purpose," I am going to say; but I break off suddenly, aware that I am betraying myself).
"He will come earlier to-morrow to make up for it"-- she says, in a low voice, more to herself than to me--"yes"-- (clasping her hands lightly in her lap, while the fire-light plays upon the lovely mildness of her happy face, and repeating the words softly)--"yes, he will come earlier to-morrow!" I _cannot_ bear it.