“He will,” said Norman, “when once he has outgrown his frights, and that he may do at Mr. Wilmot’s, apart from those fellows. When I go up for this scholarship, you must look after his lessons, and see if you are not surprised at his construing!”
“When you go. It will be in a month!”
“He has told no one, I hope.”
“No; but I hardly think he will bear not telling Margaret.”
“Well—I hate a thing being out of one’s own keeping. I should not so much dislike Margaret’s knowing, but I won’t have Flora know—mind that, Ethel,” he said, with disproportionate vehemence.
“I only hope Flora will not be vexed. But oh, dear! how nice it will be when you have it, telling Meta Rivers, and all!”
“And this is a fine way of getting it, standing talking here. Not that I shall—you little know what public schools can do! But that is no reason against trying.”
“Good-night, then. Only one thing more. You mean that, till further orders, Margaret should not know?”
“Of course,” said Norman impatiently. “She won’t take any of Flora’s silly affronts, and, what is more, she would not care half so much as before Alan Ernescliffe came.”
“Oh, Norman, Norman! I’m sure—”