“Nothing!” mocked Carewe. “Nothing! You didn't carry this to the young lady in there and get her answer?”
“No, sir!” answered the captive, earnestly.
“Cross my heart I didn't. I found it!”
Slowly the corrugations of anger were levelled from the magnate's face, the white heat cooled, and the prisoner marvelled to find himself in the presence of an urbane gentleman whose placidity made the scene of a moment ago appear some trick of distorted vision. And yet, curious to behold, Mr. Carewe's fingers shook even more violently than before, as he released the boy's shoulder and gave him a friendly tap on the head, at the same time smiling benevolently.
“There, there,” he said, bestowing a wink upon the youngster. “It's all right; it doesn't matter—only I think I see the chance of a jest in this. You wait, while I read this little note, this message that you found!” He ended by winking again with the friendliest drollery.
He turned his back to the boy, and opened the note; continuing to stand in that position while he read the two messages. It struck the messenger that, after this, there need be no great shame in his own lack of this much-vaunted art of reading, since it took so famous a man as Mr. Carewe such length of time to peruse a little note. But perhaps the great gentleman was ill, for it appeared to the boy that he lurched several times, once so far that he would have gone over if he had not saved himself by a lucky stagger. And once, except for the fact that the face that had turned away had worn an expression of such genial humor, the boy would have believed that from it issued a sound like the gnashing of teeth.
But when it was turned to him again, it bore the same amiable jocosity of mouth and eye, and nothing seemed to be the matter, except that those fingers still shook so wildly, too wildly, indeed, to restore the note to its envelope.
“There,” said Mr. Carewe, “put it back, laddie, put it back yourself. Take it to the gentleman who sent you. I see he's even disguised his hand a trifle-ha! ha!—and I suppose he may not have expected the young lady to write his name quite so boldly on the envelope! What do you suppose?”
“I d'know,” returned the boy. “I reckon I don't hardly understand.”
“No, of course not,” said Mr. Carewe, laughing rather madly. “Ha, ha, ha! Of course you wouldn't. And how much did he give you?”