"Maybe," thought George, as he wended his way along Upper Thames Street, "I shall be able to think of some scheme to dodge all this. I used to have a few ideas at one time. I suppose there's some one on my track from the infernal lawyers now."
He turned round sharply, and observed a young man stop and bend a searching gaze on a bill announcing property for sale.
"That's the man. I must be careful to do the George Washington act, and stick hard to temperance principles." As he proceeded on his way, the young man, who was no other than the relentless Mole, carefully followed him.
It was late in the afternoon when he returned to Brunswick Terrace. During his wanderings he had not been able to shake off his pursuer, who tarried on the opposite side of the road as he entered the house. As he expected, a legal document awaited him, announcing the reversion of the second legacy.
"What a shame!" cried Mrs. Early, hotly, when she heard the news. "I do think papa might have shown a little more feeling."
"More feeling, my dear?" Aunt Phœbe bristled up. "Really, I'm surprised at you. For my part, I rejoice, and I can't understand why your husband doesn't do so. Surely it is a blessing to know that one is always telling the truth."
"Oh, I'm overwhelmed with joy," groaned George—"never felt happier in my life."
"We shall all be pleased, I think, to feel that we can rely on every word you say," said Aunt Phœbe, quietly.
"Ah," said George, "it's different here. Of course, at home it doesn't count. It isn't like——"
His aunt held up her hands. "I beg your pardon," she said; "I must differ. I give you warning; I must differ. It would be far from my wish to have to say a word that would injure either of you, but in the interests of truth and justice——"