“Oh, I’m—ah—promised beforehand,” said Aubrey, clumsily.
“Can’t you get off?”
“No. But I’ve as great a mind to go—”
“You come, and never mind the other fellows. You’ll find us much jollier grigs of the twain.”
“I know that. Hang it, Tom, I’ll go!”
“There’s a brave lad! Four o’clock sharp, at the Duck. I’ll meet you there.”
“Done!”
“Where was he promised, I marvel?” asked Dorothy in a whisper, with a yawn behind her hand.
“Oh, didn’t you see how he flushed and stammered?” said Gertrude, laughing. “I vow, I do believe old Knitting-pins had made him swear on her big Bible that he wouldn’t speak another word to Mr Winter. Had it been but another merry-making, he should never have looked thus.”
There was no visit from Aubrey at the White Bear that evening. He felt as if he could not meet his grandmother’s eyes. He was not yet sufficiently hardened in sin to be easy under an intention of deliberate disobedience and violation of a solemn promise; yet the sin was too sweet to give up. This once, he said to himself: only this once!—and then, no more till the month was over.