ng a word! Of course I am a little disappointed." Then I mumble
off into an indistinctness, whence the nouns "House--warming," "Bobby,"
"Gold Coast," crop out audibly.

"After all," he says, still regarding me, and speaking kindly, yet a
little coldly too, "you need not look so woebegone. They say second
thoughts are best, do not they? Well, I have been thinking second
thoughts, and--I have altered my mind."

"You are going to stay at home?" cry I, at the top of my voice, jumping
up in an ecstasy, and beginning to clap my hands.

"No," he says, gently, "not quite _that_, as I explained to you before,
that is impossible: but--do not be downcast--something nearly as good. I
am going to leave _you_ at home!"

To leave me at home! My first feeling is one of irrepressible relief. No
sea! no steward! no courtesying ship! no swaying waves after all! Then
comes a quick and strong revulsion, shame, mortification, and pain.

"To--leave--me--at home!" I repeat slowly, hardly yet grasping the idea,
"to--go--_without_--me!--by yourself?"

"By myself," he answers, gently. "You see, it is no _new_ thing to me. I
have been by myself for forty-seven years."

A quick, remorseful pain runs through my heart.

"But you are not by yourself any longer," I cry, eagerly. "Why do you
talk as if you were? Do you count _me_ for nothing?"

"For nothing?" he answers, smiling quietly. "I am glad of an excuse to
be rid of you for a bit--that is it!"

"But _is_ that it?" cry I, excitedly, rising and running round to him.
"If you are sure of that--if you will _swear_ it to me--I will not say
another word. I will hold my tongue, and try to bear as well as I can,
your having grown tired of me so soon--but--" speaking more slowly, and
hesitating, "if--if--it is that you fancied--you thought--you
imagined--that I did not _want_ to come with you--"

"My dear," he says, laughing not at all bitterly, but with a genuine
amusement, "I should have been even less bright than I am, if I had not
gathered that much."

I sink down on a chair, and cover my face with my hands. My _attitude_
is the same as it was ten minutes ago, but oh, how different are my
feelings! What bitter repentance, what acute self-contempt, invade my
soul! As I so sit, I feel an arm round my waist.

"Nancy," says Sir Roger, "it was ill-naturedly said; do not fret about
it; you were not in the least to blame. I should not like you half so
much--should not think nearly so well of y