“There,” he said, impatiently, “morning’s a bad time. He’s sure to be busy. I’ll go after lunch.”
Lunch-time came, and the Rector smilingly asked him how he got on with Mr Portlock.
“Haven’t been yet. Going directly after lunch,” he said shortly; and, to prepare himself for his task, he paid a good deal of attention to the sherry decanter, and, after lunch, smoked a couple more cigars, as he hesitated and hung about.
“Well, I will go now,” he exclaimed, and, rousing up his courage, he went across the fields towards Kilby Farm, but turned off before he got there, and went strolling along the lane.
“Hang the job,” he muttered. “I hate it, but I must go, though, I suppose.”
He turned back, and somehow began thinking of Luke Ross, who was speeding light-hearted enough upon his journey.
“Poor cad!” he said, half aloud. “How wild he will be!”
Once more he neared the farm, and once more he hesitated and turned off.
“I can’t face the old boy alone,” he cried, impatiently. “What does it matter? He knows nothing of etiquette. I shall go and meet Sage, and then we can go in together. It’s all nonsense to be so formal.”
He seemed to be quite relieved upon coming to this determination, and, seating himself upon a gate, he sat swinging his legs to and fro, whistling, and consulting the watch he carried from time to time, till, coming to the conclusion that it was just about the right moment for meeting Sage as she left the school, he leaped down and made off in the direction of the town.