And with that silly, silly speech Wilton was reassured; a gratified smile perched itself upon his lips, and his eyes sparkled with delight; nor was he soon revisited by any qualms of conscience.
Chapter Thirty Two.
Disenchantment.
“How do you get on with the young Evson, Ra?” asked Mackworth of Wilton, with a sneer.
“Not at all,” said Wilton. “He’s awfully particular and strait-laced, just like that brother of his. No more fun while he’s in the house.”
“Confound him,” said Mackworth, frowning darkly; “if he doesn’t like what he sees, he must lump it. He’s not worth any more trouble.”
“So, Mack, you too have discovered what he’s like.”
“Yes, I have,” answered Mackworth savagely. For all his polish, his courtesies, and civilities had not succeeded in making Charlie conceal how much he feared and disliked him. The young horse rears the first time it hears the adder’s hiss, and the dove’s eye trembles instinctively when the hawk is near. Charlie half knew and half guessed the kind of character he had to deal with, and made Mackworth hate him with deadly hatred by the way in which, without one particle of rudeness or conceit, he managed to keep him at a distance, and check every approach to intimacy.