“Where they ought to have been,” said Distin.
“Oh, I don’t know. They’re half-wild sort of fellows—very cunning, and all that sort of thing. I daresay I should have done as they did if I had been a gipsy. But, never mind that now. They’ll keep away from Greythorpe for long enough to come.”
He began dabbing his face with his handkerchief, and looking merrily at Distin.
“I say,” he cried; “I didn’t know I could fight like that. Is my face very queer?”
“It is bruised and swollen,” said Distin, with an effort. “I’m afraid it will be worse to-morrow.”
“So am I, but we can’t help it. Never mind, it will be a bit of a holiday for me till the bruises don’t show; and I can sit and think out something else. Come and see me sometimes.”
“I can’t, Vane, I can’t,” cried Distin, wildly. “Do you think I have no feeling?”
“Too much, I should say,” cried Vane. “There, why don’t you let it go? Uncle says life isn’t long enough for people to quarrel or make enemies. That’s all over; and, I say, I feel ever so much more comfortable now. Haven’t got such a thing as a tumbler in your pocket, have you?”
Distin looked in the bruised and battered face before him, wondering at the lad’s levity, as Vane continued:
“No, I suppose you haven’t, and my silver cup is on the sideboard. Never mind: here goes. Just stand close to me, and shout if you see any leeches coming.”