'Fudge, Ethel! Not to-day. Do you think I care about that boy? I should think not! But—but—I wanted to think him a nasty prig, but I can't!'
'Who?'
'Why, that eldest brother. When he found me scrambling about with my stockings off, he didn't speak, but he looked, as Richard might, surprised and sorry. I thought it was impertinent—at least I wanted to, but— And now he'll always think me—nasty!'
'My dear, if one must have a lesson of that kind, it is as well it should be from some one that one is never likely to see or hear of again.'
'Oh! but not from the very best and noblest of people one ever will hear of. Yes, Ethel, I'm not gone mad! That boy has been telling me all about his brother; and indeed I never did hear or know about any one who was a real hero in a quiet way! No; whenever I hear of a hero, I shall think of Mr. Underwood. And, oh dear, that I should have made such a goose of myself!'
It was quite unaffected—a spark of real reverence had lighted at last on Gertrude's mind. 'To turn tradesman for the sake of one's brothers and sisters, that I do call heroic!' she said; and maintained his cause, even to putting down F.U. as her 'favourite hero' in lists of likes and dislikes.
But there was no great chance of Gertrude again encountering her hero; for the morning after their day at Stoneborough, Lance was beginning to experiment on his powers by skimming newspapers, especially the Pursuivant, because he knew it before, all but the last local items, that could only be added at the moment of going to press. Suddenly he broke out, 'Holloa! you never told me this! Mowbray Smith has put his foot in it this time.'
'What?' said Felix, pausing in the act of opening an envelope from Mr. Froggatt.
'Pocketing the coal and school money—ay, and the alms.'
'Eh? Impossible! Let me look.'