But the presence of some one else in the street did not attract Artingale’s attention, and he sauntered along until he reached the end, and stopped.
“Now, then,” he said, “home? or one more walk to the end and back?”
He hesitated for a moment, and then turned beneath the lamp-post, with a smile at his own weakness, and walked slowly back.
“I should have made a splendid Romeo,” he said. “What a pity it is that the course of my true love should run so jolly smooth. Everything goes as easy as possible for me. Not a single jolly obstacle. Might have been married to-morrow morning if I had liked, and sometimes I wish I had been going to act as principal; but it is best as it is.”
He was nearing the Rector’s residence once again.
“Now with some people,” he continued, half aloud, “how different it is. Everything goes wrong with them. Look at poor old Magnus— The deuce! Why, Mag!”
“I thought you had gone home!”
“I thought you had gone home!”
“I thought I would have a walk first,” said Magnus, quietly.
“So did I, old fellow. But oh, I say!”