Vane felt disposed to wait and go in with the rector, but, feeling that it would be cowardly, he walked straight in at the study door to find Distin, Gilmore, and Macey seated at the table, all hard at work, but apparently not over their studies.
“Why, gracious!” cried Macey.
“Alive?” said Gilmore.
“Used to it,” sneered Distin. “That sort of creature takes a deal of killing.”
“What’s the matter?” said Vane, good-humouredly, taking a seat.
“Why,” said Gilmore, “we were all thinking of writing to our tailors to send us suits of mourning out of respect for you—believe it or not as you please.”
“Thankye,” said Vane quietly. “Then I will not believe it, because Distin wouldn’t order black if I were drowned.”
“Who said a word about drowned? I said poisoned,” cried Gilmore.
“Not a word about it. But why?”
“Because you went home and ate those toadstools.”