She has gone home.
"You will be better by yourselves," she says, gently, when she announces her intention of going.

"He will like it better.

I should if I were he.
It will be like a new honey-moon." "_That_ it will not," reply I, stoutly, recollecting how much I yawned, and how largely Mr.Musgrave figured in the first.

"I have no opinion of honey-moons; no more would _you_ if you had _had_ one." "_Should_ not I ?" speaking a little absently, while her eyes stray through the window to the serene coldness of the sky, and the pallid droop of the snow-drops in the garden-border.
"You are sure," say I, earnestly, taking her light hand in mine, "that you are not going because you think that you are not _wanted_ now--that now, that I have my--my own property again" (smiling irrepressibly), "I can do very well without you." "_Quite_ sure, Nancy!" looking back into my eager eyes with confident affection.
"And you will come back _very_ soon?
_very ?_" "When you quarrel," she answers, her face dimpling into a laugh, "I will come and make it up between you." "You must come before _then_," say I, with a proud smile, "or your visit is likely to be indefinitely postponed." Roger and I quarrel! We both find the idea so amusing that we laugh in concert..