"What does it matter when my things are put up?" the young man said. "There's no crowd at this moment; there will be cabins to spare. I'm waiting for a telegram--that will settle it. I just walked up to the club to see if it was come--they'll send it there because they suppose this house unoccupied. Not yet, but I shall go back in twenty minutes."
"Mercy, how you rush about in this temperature!" the poor lady exclaimed while I reflected that it was perhaps HIS billiard-balls I had heard ten minutes before. I was sure he was fond of billiards.
"Rush? not in the least. I take it uncommon easy."
"Ah I'm bound to say you do!" Mrs. Nettlepoint returned with inconsequence. I guessed at a certain tension between the pair and a want of consideration on the young man's part, arising perhaps from selfi