"And you think," he says, "that when he hears what is expected of him he
will withdraw?"

Again I laugh heartily and rather loudly, for the idea tickles me, and,
in a large family, one gets into the habit of raising one's voice, else
one is not heard.

"I am so sadly sure that he will never come forward, that I have never
taken the trouble to speculate as to whether, if he did, my greediness
would make him retire again."

No answer.

"Now that I come to think of it, though," continue I, after a pause, "I
have no manner of doubt that he would."

Apparently Sir Roger is tired of the subject of my future prospects, for
he drops it. We have left the kitchen-garden--have passed through the
flower-garden--have reached the hall-door. I am irresolutely walking up
the stone steps that mount to it, not being able to make up my mind as
to whether or no I should make some sort of farewell observation to my
companion, when his voice follows me. It seems to me to have a
dissuasive inflection.

"Are you going in?"

"Well, yes," I answer uncertainly, "I suppose so."

He looks at his watch.