'Miss Mutimer--'
'Yes?'
'Is there any hope for me? You remember you said I was to wait a
month, and I've waited longer.'
'Yes, you have been very good,' said Alice, smiling loftily.
'Is there any hope for me?' he repeated, with an air of
encouragement.
'Less than ever,' was the girl's reply, lightly given, indeed, but
not to be mistaken for a jest.
'You mean that? Come, now, you don't really mean that? There must
be, at all events, as much hope as before.'
'There isn't. There never was so little hope. There's no hope at
all, _not a scrap_!'
She pressed her lips and looked at him with a grave face. He too
became grave, and in a changed way.
'I am not to take this seriously?' he asked with bated breath.
'You are. There's not one scrap of hope, and it's better you should
know it.'
'Then--there--there must be somebody else?' he groaned, his distress
no longer humorous.
Alice continued to look him in the face for a moment, and at length
nodded twice.
'There _is_ somebody else?'
She nodded three times.
'Then I'll go. Good-bye, Miss Mutimer. Yes, I'll go.'
He did not offer to shake hands, but bowed and moved away
dejectedly.
'But you're not going back to London?' Alice asked.
'Yes.'
'You'd better not do that. They'll know you've called.
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