“I cannot be so ungrateful, sir. It is but fair and just that Tony should hear of your generous plan. Mr. Maitland thought he 'd just take you abroad—to travel with him—to go about and see the world. He 'd call you his secretary.”
“His what!” exclaimed Tony, with a burst of laughter. “His what, mother?”
“Let me try and explain away, if I can, the presumption of such a project. Not now, however,” said Maitland, look-ing at his watch, “for I have already overstayed my time; and I have an appointment for this evening,—without you will kindly give me your company for half a mile up the road, and we can talk the matter over together.”
Tony looked hesitatingly for a moment at bis mother; but she said, “To be sure, Tony. I 'll give Mr. Maitland a loan of you for half an hour. Go with him, by all means.”
With all that courtesy of which he was a master, Maitland thanked her for the sacrifice she was making, and took his leave.
“You have no objection to walk fast, I hope,” said Maitland; “for I find I am a little behind my time.”
Tony assented with a nod, and they stepped out briskly; the device of the speed being merely assumed to give Maitland an opportunity of seeing a little more of his companion before entering upon any serious converse. Tony, however, was as impenetrable in his simplicity as some others are in their depth; and after two or three attempts to draw him on to talk of commonplaces, Maitland said abruptly: “You must have thought it a great impertinence on my part to make such a proposal to your mother as she has just told you of; but the fact was, I had no other way of approaching a very difficult subject, and opening a question which to her, certainly, I could not explain myself fully upon. I heard a good deal about you up at the Abbey, and all that I heard confirmed me in the notion that you were just the man for an enterprise in which I am myself deeply interested. However, as I well knew, even if I succeeded in inducing you to become my comrade, it would be necessary to have a sort of narrative which would conceal the project from your mother, it occurred to me to get up this silly idea of a secretaryship, which I own freely may have offended you.”
“Not offended; it only amused me,” said Tony, good-humoredly. “I can't imagine a man less fitted for such an office than myself.”
“I 'm not so sure of that,” said Maitland, “though I'm quite certain it would be a very unprofitable use to make of you. You are, like myself, a man of action; one to execute and do, and not merely to note and record. The fellows who write history very seldom make it,—isn't that true?”
“I don't know. I can only say I don't think I 'm very likely to do one or the other.”