“Thanks—but give me some of that stuff in brown jelly, will you? It’s new to me.”
“Have some of this trifle, Georgie?”
“I will—you are a jewel.”
“So will you be—a yellow topaz tomorrow!”
“Ah! tomorrow’s tomorrow!”
After supper was over, Alice cried:
“Georgie, dear—have you finished?—don’t die the death of a king—King John—I can’t spare you, pet.”
“Are you so fond of me?”
“I am—Aw! I’d throw my best Sunday hat under a milk-cart for you, I would!”
“No; throw yourself into the milk-cart—some Sunday, when I’m driving.”
“Yes—come and see us,” said Emily.
“How nice! Tomorrow you won’t want me, Georgie dear, so I’ll come. Don’t you wish Pa would make Tono-Bungay? Wouldn’t you marry me then?”
“I would,” said he.
When the cart came, and Alice, Madie, Tom and Will departed, Alice bade Lettie a long farewell—blew Georgie many kisses—promised to love him faithful and true—and was gone.
George and Emily lingered a short time.
Now the room seemed empty and quiet, and all the laughter seemed to have gone. The conversation dribbled away; there was an awkwardness.
“Well,” said George heavily, at last. “To-day is nearly gone—it will soon be tomorrow. I feel a bit drunk! We had a good time to-night.”
“I am glad,” said Lettie.
