William and his pupil were walking down the thick fir wood that lies on the slope between Kincton and the Old London road, when just at a curve in the path, within twenty yards, whom should he come upon suddenly in this darksome by-way but Mr. Vane Trevor. They both stopped short.
“By Jove! Maubray?” exclaimed Trevor, after a pause, and he cackled one of his agreeable laughs.
“Did not expect to see you here, Trevor,” replied William, looking on the whole rather dismally surprised.
“Why, what are you afraid of, old Maubray? I’m not going to do you any harm, upon my honour,” and he laughed again, approaching his friend, who likewise advanced to meet him smiling, with rather an effort. “Very glad to see you, and I’ve a lot to tell you,” said he. “I don’t mean any nonsense, but really serious things.”
“All well at home?” asked William, eagerly.
“Oh, dear, yes, quite well—all flourishing. It is not—it’s nothing unpleasant, you know, only I mean something—it’s of importance to me, by Jove! and to, I fancy, other people also; and I see you’re puzzled. Can we get rid of that little wretch for a minute or two?” and he glanced at Howard Seymour Knox, to whom, he just remembered, he had not yet spoken.
“And how do you do, Howard, my boy? Flourishing, I see. Would you like to have a shot with my revolver? I left it at the gamekeeper’s down there. Well, give them this card, and they’ll give it to you—and we’ll try and shoot a rabbit—eh?”
Away went Master Howard, and Trevor said—
“And do tell me, what are you doing here, of all places in the world?”
“I’m a resident tutor—neither more nor less,” said William Maubray, with a bitter gaiety.