Spriggs, instead of being contrite at this flagrant breach of discipline, is plainly elated with his victory. No smallest sign of shame disfigures his small rubicund countenance.
Georgie makes a praiseworthy effort to appear shocked, but, as her pretty cheeks are pink, and her eyes great with laughter, the praiseworthy effort rather falls through.
At this moment the door of the school-house is gently pushed open, and a new-comer appears on the threshold: it is Mr. Kennedy.
Going up unseen, he stands behind Georgie's chair, and having heard from the door-way all that has passed, instantly bends over and hands the notorious Spriggs a shilling.
"Ah! you again?" says Mrs. Branscombe, coloring warmly, merely from surprise. "You are like Sir Boyle Roche's bird: you can be in two places at the same moment. But it is wrong to give him money when he is bad. It is out of all keeping; and how shall I manage the children if you come here, anxious to reward vice and foster rebellion?"
She is laughing gayly now, and is looking almost her own bright little self again, when, lifting her eyes, she sees Dorian watching her. Instantly her smile fades; and she returns his gaze fixedly, as though compelled to do it by some hidden instinct.
He has entered silently, not expecting to find any one before him but the vicar: yet the very first object his eyes meet is his wife, smiling, radiant, with Kennedy beside her. A strange pang contracts his heart, and a terrible amount of reproach passes from his eyes to hers.
He is sad and dispirited, and full of melancholy. His whole life has proved a failure; yet in what way has he fallen short?
Kennedy, seeing Mrs. Branscombe's expression change, raises his head, and so becomes aware of her husband's presence. Being a wise young man in his own generation, he smiles genially upon Dorian, and, going forward, shakes his hand as though years of devotion have served to forge a link likely to bind them each to each forever.
"Charming day, isn't it?" he says, with a beatific smile. "Quite like summer."