"No, you'll stay here," said Sidney, firmly; "don't disturb her on my account. I shall see her presently, and I want to enjoy the luxury of her surprise. Besides, there's no hurry."
"Isn't there?" Mr. Gray asked dreamily.
"Why should there be? I'm here for good."
Mr. Gray had just stooped to pick up his books and inkstand; he dropped them again at this, and then emerged like a phantom above the counter once more.
"You don't mean that?"
"This is my home again. They were very kind to me at Red-Hill, but it wasn't like home, and it never felt like home to me. After Maurice had left for London this morning, I told them my mind very plainly—it's no good telling that harum-scarum fellow anything—expressed my thanks, my gratitude for all that they had done for me, packed up and came away. I was unsettled, dissatisfied, unhappy, somehow—and here I am."
Mr. Gray sank behind the counter again, this time to hide his confusion, which, it was evident, was visibly expressed on his countenance. Sidney back again! Sidney, without preliminary warning, once more entering his home as a friend who expected to be heartily welcomed, and as a partner whom he had no right to ask to go away! Mr. Gray did not see his way very clearly to the end; Sidney's "straightforward" habit of doing things had completely discomfited him for the nonce. He must take his time, and think of this!
He re-emerged from his hiding-place, and laid the débris he had collected on the counter.
"I was taking stock when you came in, Sidney," he said; "just seeing what each share would be, and so on."
"Indeed! what was that for?"