History Repeats Itself.
Vane made his way straight to the rectory, with a fixed intention in his mind. The idea had been growing for days: now it was quite ripe, consequent, perhaps, on the state of mind produced by the scene at the manor.
“It will be more frank and manly,” he said to himself. “He’s different to us and can’t help his temper, so I’ll look over everything, and say ‘what’s the good of our being bad friends. Shake hands and forgive me. I’m a rougher, coarser fellow than you are, and I dare say I’ve often said things that hurt you when I didn’t mean it.’”
“Come, he can’t get over that,” said Vane, half-aloud, and full of eagerness to get Distin alone, he turned up the rectory lane, and came at once upon Gilmore and Macey.
“Hullo, Weathercock,” cried the latter, “which way does the wind blow?”
“Due east.”
“That’s rectory way.”
“Yes; is Distie in?”
“No; what do you want with him. He doesn’t want you. Come along with us,” said Gilmore.
“No, I want to see Distie—which way did he go?”