“Yes,” I said, delighted at the change in his conversation. “I am glad of it—heartily glad of it,” he said with kindling eyes. “Linny is right; I do love and idolise my model, and you shall share her love, Antony. Together we will make her the queen of models, and if in time, perhaps years hence, I do perfect her—nay, if we perfect her—there, you see,” he said playfully, “I have no petty jealousies—you will then be engineer enough to make the drawings and calculations for the machines that are to grow from the model. Is it a bargain, Antony?”
“That it is,” I cried, holding out my hand, which he firmly clasped; and that night I went back to Revitts’ walking upon air, with my head in a whirl with the fancied noise of the machinery made by Hallett and Grace, while, out of my share of the proceeds, I was going down to Rowford to pay Mr Blakeford all my father’s debt; and then—being quite a man grown—I meant to tell him he was a cowardly, despicable scoundrel, for behaving to me as he did when I was a boy.
Chapter Thirty Six.
Mr Jabez Rowle’s Money Matters.
Something like the same sensation came over me when I made my way to Great George Street, Westminster, as I had felt on the morning when I presented myself at the great printing-office. But my nervousness soon passed away on being received by Mr Girtley, a short, broad-shouldered man, with a big head covered with crisp, curly grey hair.
“Ah,” he said, speaking in a great hurry, “you’re Antony Grace, our new pupil, are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Miss Carr’s young friend. Knew Carr: clever, wealthy man.”