“Dress?” I said, falling down from the seventh heaven to the level of Caroline Street, Pentonville, and bouncing back to the second floor.
“Well,” she said, smiling; “you would like to wash your hands.”
The rest of that evening was still more dreamlike than the day. I dined with Miss Carr, and afterwards she encouraged me to go on talking about myself, and present and past life. I amused her greatly about Revitts, and his efforts to improve his spelling; and she smiled and looked pained in turn, as I talked of Mary and my life at Mr Blakeford’s.
“I should like to know Mary,” she said, laughing; “Mary must be a rough gem.”
“But she is so good at heart!” I cried earnestly, for I felt pained at the light way in which she spoke of poor Mary.
“I am sure she is, Antony,” said Miss Carr, looking at me very earnestly; and then I began to talk of Mr Hallett, and how kind and firm he had been.
To my surprise, she stopped me, her voice sounding almost harsh as she said quietly:
“You are learning through a rough school, Antony, and are fast losing your homelike ways, and childlike—well—innocence; but you are still very impressionable, and ready to take people for what they seem. Antony, my boy, you will make many enemies as well as friends. Count me always among the latter, and as your friend I now say to you, do not be too ready to make friendships with men. I should rather see you with a good companion of your own age.”
“Yes, Miss Carr,” I said; “but if you knew Mr Hallett—”
She held up her hand, and I stopped, for she seemed to turn pale and to look angry.