This explosion seemed to divert Mr. Trevor extremely; but William was, of course, obliged to rebuke his pupil.
“If you say that again, Master Howard, I’ll tell your mamma.”
“I don’t care.”
“Very well, Sir.”
“I say, come with me,” said Trevor. “We’ll ask mamma about the pistol, and I shall be here again in half an hour.”
“Very well, do so, and just remember, though I don’t much care,” said Maubray, in an under tone, “they don’t know my name here.”
“All right,” said Trevor; “I shan’t forget,” and he and his interesting companion took their departure, leaving William to his meditations.
“So! going to be married—little Vi—pretty little Vi—little Vi, that used to climb up at the back of my chair. I’ll try and remember her always the same little wayward, beautiful darling. I’ve seen my last of her, at least for a long time, a very long time, and Gilroyd—I’ll never see it again.”
And thoughts, vague and sad, came swelling up the stormy channels of his heart, breaking wildly and mournfully one over the other, and poor William Maubray, in his solitude, wept some bitter tears.
