In a few minutes Mrs. Poole was heard returning; behind her came a heavier foot. Ackroyd certainly looked far from well, but had assumed a gay air, which he exaggerated.
'Come to see if I've hanged myself, old man? Not quite so bad as that yet. I've had the toothache and the headache and Lord knows what. Now I feel hungry; we'll have some supper together. Give me a jug, Maggie, and I'll get some beer.'
'You sit down,' she replied. 'I'll run out and fetch it.'
'Why, what's the good of a jug like that!' he roared, watching her. 'A gallon or so won't be a drop too much for me.'
He flung himself into a chair and stretched his legs.
'Been to the lecture?' he asked, as his sister left the room.
'Yes,' Gilbert replied, his wonted quietness contrasting with the other's noise. 'Mr. Egremont's been asking me about you. He's disappointed that you've left him.'
'Can't help it. I held out as long as I could. It isn't my line. Besides, nothing's my line just now. So you had a talk with him, eh?'
'Yes, a talk I shan't forget. There are not many men like Mr. Egremont.'
Gilbert had it on his lips to speak of the library project, but a doubt as to whether he might not be betraying confidence checked him.