"Well, he would not tell me the exact reason. I tried to find out, but he was as close as—as—wax," said Mr. Heron, trying to find a suitable simile. "He said he was much obliged to us all for our kindness to him; had no fault to find with anything or anybody; liked the place; but, all the same, he wanted to go, and go he must. I offered him double the salary—at least, I hinted as much: I knew you would not object, Lizzie dear, but it was no use. Partly family affairs; partly private reasons: that was all I could get out of him."
Mr. Heron's long speech left Elizabeth the time to consider what to say.
"It does not matter very much," she answered at length, indifferently: "we can find someone who will teach the boys quite as well, I have no doubt."
"Do you think so?" asked Mr. Heron. "Well, perhaps so. But, you see, it is not always easy to get a tutor at this time of the year, Elizabeth; and, besides, we shall not find one, perhaps, so ready to read Italian with you, as Mr. Stretton used to do——"
Oh, those Italian readings! How well she remembered them! How the interest which Mr. Stretton had from the first inspired in her had grown and strengthened in the hours that they spent together, with heads bent over the same page, and hearts throbbing in unison over the lines that spoke of Dante's Beatrice, or Petrarca's Laura! She shuddered at the remembrance, now fraught to her with keenest pain.
"I shall not want to read Italian again," she said, rising from the table. "We had better advertise for a tutor, Uncle Alfred, unless you think the boys might run wild for a little while, or unless Percival can find us one."
"Shall you be writing to Percival to-day, my dear?"
"I don't know."
"Because you might mention that Mr. Stretton has left us. I am afraid that Percival will be glad," said Mr. Heron, with a little laugh; "he had an unaccountable dislike to poor Stretton."
"Yes, Percival will be glad," said Elizabeth, turning mechanically to leave the room. At the door she paused. "Mr. Stretton left an address, I suppose?"