“The Minister is not here now,” said Billy, half speaking to himself, “he is travelling with the Duke; but when he comes back—”
“When he comes back!” burst in Massy, impatiently; “with what calm philosophy you look forward to a remote future. I tell you that this scheme is now a part and parcel of my very existence. I can turn to no other project, or journey no other road in life, till at least I shall have tried it!”
“Well, it is going to work in a more humble fashion,” said Billy, calmly. “Leave me to dispose of all these odds and ends here—”
“This trash!” cried the youth, fiercely. “Who would accept it as a gift?”
“Don't disparage it; there are signs of genius even in these things; but, above all, don't meddle with me, but just leave me free to follow my own way. There now, go back and employ yourself preparing for the road; trust the rest to me.”
Massy obeyed without speaking. It was not, indeed, that he ventured to believe in Traynor's resources, but he was indisposed to further discussion, and longed to be in solitude once more.
It was late at night when they met again. Charles Massy was seated at a window of his room, looking out into the starry blue of a cloudless sky, when Traynor sat down beside him. “Well,” said he, gently, “it's all done and finished. I have sold off everything, and if you will only repair the hand of the Faun, which I broke in removing, there's nothing more wanting.”
“That much can be done by any one,” said Massy, haughtily. “I hope never to set eyes on the trumpery things again.”
“But I have promised you would do it,” said Traynor, eagerly.
“And how—by what right could you pledge yourself for my labor? Nay,” cried he, suddenly changing the tone in which he spoke, “knowing my wilful nature, how could you answer for what I might or might not do?”