"No, I will promote you," Hoffland answered, smiling; "you shall have this finger, one rank above the little finger, you see."
And he held up his left hand, touching the third finger.
Then the boy turned away and laughed as merrily and carelessly as before the disagreeable events of the evening.
Mowbray looked at him with a faint smile.
"Youth, youth!" he murmured; "youth, so full of joy and lightness—so careless and gay-hearted! Here is a man—or a child—who in twenty-four hours may be lying cold in death yonder, and he smiles and even laughs. Hoffland," he added, "let us cease our discussions in relation to the origin of this unhappy affair, and endeavor to decide upon the course to be pursued. With myself the matter stands thus: I have known Denis for years; he is one of my best friends; no one loves me more, I think——"
"Except one," said Hoffland, laughing.
"My dear Charles," said Mowbray seriously, "let us speak gravely. This affair is serious, since it involves two lives—especially serious to me, since it involves the life of a friend of many years' standing, and no less the life of one I have promised to assist, advise, and guide—yourself."
"Oh," said Hoffland, with a hurt expression, "you call Mr. Denis your friend, while I—I am only 'one you have promised to advise.' Ernest, that is cruel; you have not learned yet how sensitive I am!"
And Hoffland turned away.
"Really, I am dealing with a child," murmured Mowbray; "let me summon all my patience."