“Heard that Charles has gone off,—started for England last night, with the intention of joining the first regiment ordered for India.”
“I wish to Heaven he 'd have taken me with him!” cried the boy, eagerly.
“Very possibly,” said she, dryly; “but Charles was certainly to blame for leaving a home of happiness and affection in this abrupt way. I don't see how poor Sir William is ever to get over it, not to speak of leaving May Leslie. I hope, Agincourt, this is not the way you 'll treat the young lady you 're betrothed to.”
“I 'll never get myself into any such scrape, depend on't. Poor Charley!”
“Why not poor May?” whispered Mrs. Morris.
“Well, poor May, too, if she cared for him; but I don't think she did.”
“Oh, what a shame to say so! I 'm afraid you young gentlemen are brought up in great heresies nowadays, and don't put any faith in love.”
Had the boy been an acute observer, he would have marked how little the careless levity of the remark coincided with the assumed sadness of her former manner; but he never noticed this.
“Well,” broke in the boy, bluntly, “why not marry him, if she cared for him? I don't suppose you 'll ask me to believe that Charley would have gone away if she had n't refused him?”
“What a wily serpent it is!” said Mrs. Morris, smiling; “wanting to wring confidences from me whether I will or no.”