CHAPTER VIII.
HOW TO GET RID OF A COMPANY.
When Mr. Erin had closed the door behind him there was silence among those he had left; Dennis and Margaret naturally looked to William Henry for an explanation of so singular a scene, but he only turned over the leaves of ‘Stokes, the Vaulting Master,’ with an amused expression of countenance.
‘This reminds me,’ he observed presently, ‘of what one of Mr. Bingley’s female clients did the other day. She had a favourite cat, which one of her toadies used to extol in order to curry favour with her; and when she died she left him that, as being the richest legacy she could think of; her mere money went to a hospital.’
Margaret gave him a look which seemed to reproach him for his frivolity, and Dennis remarked gravely enough, ‘I do hope there is no mistake about that deed of yours, my lad; for I am afraid it would be a terrible blow to your father.’
‘Deed of mine!’ exclaimed the young man indignantly. ‘How on earth can I tell whether it is genuine or not?’
‘That is very true,’ said Margaret, ‘how can he? We must hope for the best. Now tell us where you found it, Willie, and all about it.’
‘Well, it’s a queer story, I promise you, and I can only give you my word of honour for the truth of it.’