“Gone to hide, d’ye say?” Lambert laughed noisily in support of his own joke.
“No, Hythe.”
“It seems to me its more likely it’s a case of hide,” Lambert went on with a wink; he paused, fiddled with his teaspoon, and smiled at his own hand as he did so. “P’raps he thought it was time for him to get out of this.”
“Really?” said Christopher, with a lack of interest that was quite genuine.
Lambert’s pulse bounded with the sudden desire to wake this supercilious young hound up for once, by telling him a few things that would surprise him.
“Well, you see it’s a pretty strong order for a fellow to carry on as Hawkins did, when he happens to be engaged.”
The fact of Mr. Hawkins’ engagement had, it need scarcely be said, made its way through every highway and byway of Lismoyle; inscrutable as to its starting-point, impossible of verification, but all the more fascinating for its mystery. Lambert had no wish to claim its authorship; he had lived among gentlemen long enough to be aware that the second-hand confidences of a servant could not creditably be quoted by him. What he did not know, however, was whether the story had reached Bruff, or been believed there, and it was extremely provoking to him now that instead of being able to observe its effect on Christopher, whose back was to the light, his discoveries should be limited to the fact that his own face had become very red as he spoke.
“I suppose he knows his own affairs best,” said Christopher, after a silence that might have meant anything, or nothing.
“Well,” leaning back and putting his hands in his pockets, “I don’t pretend to be strait-laced, but d—n it, you know, I think Hawkins went a bit too far.”
“I don’t think I have heard who it is that he is engaged to,” said Christopher, who seemed remarkably unaffected by Mr. Hawkins’ misdemeanours.