“Oh! there was some mistake in the first instance, I believe, and the mean little fellow took advantage of it.”
Mr. Percy then gave a detailed account of Louis' birthday at Heronhurst, and concluded by saying—
“I was not present, but I heard it from a spectator; I should be afraid that you will not have a little trouble with such a character.”
“It is extraordinary,” said the doctor; “his brother is the most frank, candid fellow possible.”
“I hear he is a nice boy,” said Mr. Percy. “There is frequently great dissimilarity among members of the same family; but of course, this goes no further. It is as well you should know it,—but I should not talk of it to every one.”
Dr. Wilkinson bowed slightly, and remained silent, without exhibiting any peculiar gratification at having been made the depository of the secret. Mr. Percy presently rose and took his leave; and Dr. Wilkinson was turning towards the staircase, when a servant informed him that a young gentleman waited to see him in the dining-room.
“Oh!” said the doctor to himself, “my dilatory pupil, I presume.”
He seemed lost in thought for a minute, and then slowly crossing the hall, entered the dining-room.
Louis had been very anxious for the appearance of his master, yet almost afraid to see him; and when the door opened, and this gentleman stood before him, he was seized with such a palpitation as scarcely to have the power of speech.
Dr. Wilkinson was certainly a person calculated to inspire a school-boy with awe. He was a tall, dignified man, between fifty and sixty years of age, with a magnificent forehead and good countenance: the latter was not, however, generally pleasing, the usual expression being stern and unyielding. When he smiled, that expression vanished; but to a new-comer there was something rather terrible in the compressed lips and overhanging eyebrows, from under which a pair of the keenest black eyes seemed to look him through.