He would go and say good-bye to the clergyman: from him he might hear something of her!
Wingfold caught sight of him approaching the house, and himself opened the door to him. Taking him to his study, he made him sit down, and offered him a pipe.
“Thank you, sir; I don't smoke,” said Richard.
“Then don't learn. You are better without it,” answered Wingfold, and put down his own pipe.
“I came,” said Richard, “to thank you for your kindness to me, and to ask about Miss Wylder. Not having seen her for a long time, I was afraid she might be ill. I am going away.”
There was a tremor in Richard's voice, of which he was not himself aware. Wingfold noted it, pitied the youth because of the fuel he had stored for suffering, and admired him for his straightforwardness.
“I am sorry to say you are not likely to see Miss Wylder,” he answered. “Her mother is ill.”
“I hardly thought to see her, sir. Is her mother very ill?”
“Yes, very ill,” answered Wingfold.
“With anything infectious?”