All the eyes round the table were fixed on Mr Proctor in an instant.
“There now!” said he, “I have let the cat out of the bag. Look at Agnes!” and he pinched her crimson cheek.
Everybody then looked at Agnes, except Harry, who was busy looking for the cat which papa said had come out of mamma’s work-bag. Agnes could not bear the gaze, and burst into tears.
“Agnes has taken more pains to keep the secret than her papa,” said Mrs Proctor. “The secret is, that Hugh is going to Crofton next month.”
“Am I ten, then?” asked Hugh, in his hurry and surprise.
“Scarcely; since you were only eight and a quarter yesterday afternoon,” replied his father.
“I will tell you all about it by-and-by, my dear,” said his mother. Her glance towards Agnes made all the rest understand that they had better speak of something else now. So Mr Proctor beckoned Harry to come and see whether the cat had not got into the bag again, as she was not to be seen anywhere else. It is true, the bag was not much bigger than a cat’s head; but that did not matter to Harry, who never cared for that sort of consideration, and had been busy for half an hour, the day before, in trying to put the key of the house-door into the key-hole of the tea-caddy.
By the time Agnes had recovered herself, and the table was cleared, Miss Harold had arrived. Hugh brought his books with the rest, but, instead of opening them, rested his elbow on the uppermost, and stared full at Miss Harold.
“Well, Hugh!” said she, smiling.
“I have not learned quite down to ‘Constantinople,’” said he. “Papa told me I need not, and not to mind you.”