"Do sit down, if you ever can sit down, for a minute," said he, imploringly; "I want to speak to you seriously, very seriously."
She sat down, a little uneasy. The young fellow was such a good fellow; and yet he might have got into a scrape of some sort. Debt, perhaps, for he was a trifle extravagant; but then life had been all roses to him. He had never known a want since he was born.
"Speak, then, David; I am listening. Nothing very wrong, I hope!" said she, with a smile.
"Nothing at all wrong, only—When is Mr. Roy going away"?
The question was so unexpected that she felt her color changing a little; not much, she was too old for that.
"Mr. Roy leaving St. Andrews, you mean? How can I tell? He has never told me. Why do you ask?"
"Because until he gone, I stay," said the young man, doggedly. "I'm not going back to Oxford leaving him master of the field. I have stood him as long as I possibly can, and I'll not stand him any longer."
"David! you forget yourself."
"There—now you are offended; I know you are, when you draw yourself up in that way, my dear little auntie. But just hear me. You are such an innocent woman, you don't know the world as men do. Can't you see—no, of course you can't—that very soon all St. Andrews will be talking about you?"
"About me?"