“I’m getting on very well since my sister rearranged my furniture,” said Dick. He found it pleasing to have an opportunity of exercising his long unused powers of malicious irony. This was very mild, but with practice he would soon come on to something more spiteful and amusing.
Hyman shook hands with Millicent, scowling as he did so. He was irritated that she was there; he wanted to talk with Dick alone. He turned his back on her and began addressing Dick.
“Well,” he said, “I haven’t seen you since the fatal day. How is the turnip-hoeing?”
“Pretty beastly,” said Dick.
“Better than doing hard labour in a gaol, I suppose?”
Dick nodded his head wearily, foreseeing what must inevitably come.
“You’ve escaped that all right,” Hyman went on.
“Yes; you ought to be thankful,” Millicent chimed in.
“I still can’t understand why you did it, Greenow. It was a blow to me. I didn’t expect it of you.” Hyman spoke with feeling. “It was desertion; it was treason.”