“Oh!” said Mark, “have I? Don’t go away!”
“Only for a minute, to send word for somebody to come.”
She stepped softly out into the corridor, just as the two pupils who had witnessed the encounter were coming upstairs.
“Would you mind telling Mrs Frayne that he is quite sensible now?”
“What! Mark Frayne?” cried Sinjohn. “Yes; all right.”
The two young men turned and went together to deliver the news.
“Then he is really getting well,” said Andrews, in a whisper. “Why, Sin, if he does, he’ll be Sir Mark Frayne!”
“Not while his father lives,” said the other. “But only think!—poor old Dick buried to-day! I wish we could have gone.”
“Yes,” said Andrews, bitterly. “Poor old Dick!”
“We shall never hear his flute agin!”