"I swear I won't," says Brian.
"Well, she told me Katherine had a regular devil of a life with her husband, and I'm glad of it! There!" says the squire; after which disgraceful confession he regularly scrambles under the bedclothes, with a view to hiding his shame and his exultation from public view.
Brian fairly roars with laughter. At the sound of his welcome mirth, the old man slowly emerges from the sheets again, and looks at him doubtfully, but with growing hope.
"She had the best of it, of course; any one would have the best of it with James Beresford," he says. "But she couldn't have been altogether comfortable; that's what I mean. I don't want you to think I should rejoice at her having received bad treatment at her husband's hands. He had all the bad treatment to himself, I expect."
"So do I," says Brian, who is laughing still.
"And you don't think so badly of me for it?" says the Squire, anxiously.
"Still, it's rather a mean sort of feeling, isn't it, now? It's very low—eh?"
"Low or not," says Brian, with decision, "I'm perfectly certain if it was my case I should feel just like that myself."
"You're the comfort of my life, Brian," says his uncle, gratefully; and then he indulges in a covert smile himself, after which he drops off into a slumber, sound and refreshing.