“Can you see the goose?” whispered Mary.
“I can see Mr Trevithick walking with papa; I thought they were in the study;” and, she hardly knew why, she gazed down with some little interest at the tall, stoutish man of thirty, with closely-cut dark hair and smoothly shaved face, which gave him rather the aspect of a giant boy as he walked beside Gartram, talking to him slowly and earnestly, evidently upon some business matter.
“Well, that’s who I mean,” said Mary, laughing almost hysterically, “for he must be mad.”
“Now, Mary dear, what fit is this?” cried Claude, pressing her hands and drawing her away, as, a very child for the moment, she was about to get upon a chair and peep down from behind the curtain. “I know how angry papa would be if he caught sight of you looking down.”
“Well, the man should not be such a goose—gander, I mean. I thought he was such a clever, staid, serious lawyer that uncle trusted him deeply.”
“Of course,” said Claude warmly; “and he’s quite worthy of it. I like Mr Trevithick very, very much.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mary, in a mock tragic tone, as she flung her cousin’s hands away, “you’ll make me hate you.”
“Mary, you ought to have been an actress.”
“You mean I ought to have been a man and an actor, Claudie. Oh, how I could have played Richard the Third.”
“Hush!”