Upon this occasion, for some reason or other, connected perhaps with that tranquillity of mind in his lady which it was so unquestionably his duty to guard, the Vicar of Wrexhill had not made use of his carriage and servants. He walked therefore back to the Park, and met Charles Mowbray coming through the lodge gates, as he entered them.
The young man touched his hat, and was walking on; but the vicar stopped him.
"Where are you going, my dear Charles?" said he. "It is getting quite late; you will not have time for a walk before dinner—it is almost dark. You know my habits are those of great punctuality."
"I shall never interfere with those habits, sir. It is probable that I may not return to dinner."
"Indeed!—we shall be very sorry to lose you. Where are you going, then, my dear boy?"
Charles hesitated. His heart seemed to swell in his bosom at this questioning; and though, in fact, he had strolled out without any idea of absenting himself at dinner, something like a spirit of rebellion induced him to answer, "To Sir Gilbert Harrington's, sir."
"Good evening, then. Let me bespeak your ear for half an hour in my library to-morrow morning, between the hours of eleven and twelve."
Charles bowed, but uttered not a word, and proceeded towards Oakley, inwardly muttering "his library!"
He entered the mansion of his old friends without an apology, but stated the cause of his visit as it really was.
"I could not bear to be examined by him as to where I was going, and when I was coming; and rather to prove my independence, than for any other reason, I am come to you. Can you forgive this?"