“William?” repeated Miss Perfect, faintly, and in a tone such as would indicate sudden pain.
“Yes, by Jove! the very man, upon my honour—as large as life. He’s⸺”
Suddenly, Vane Trevor recollected that he was not to divulge the secret of his being there in the office of tutor.
“Well, he’s—what is he doing?” urged Aunt Dinah.
“He’s—he’s staying there; and, upon my honour—you won’t tell, I know, but, upon my honour—the old lady, and—he! he! he!—the young one are both—I give you my honour—in love with him!”
And Trevor laughed shrilly.
“But, I really aint joking—I’m quite serious, I do assure you. The old woman told me, in so many words almost, that Clara’s in love with him—awfully in love, by Jove!”
Trevor’s narrative was told in screams of laughter.
“And, you know, she’s really, awfully pretty: a stunning girl she was a year or two ago; and—you know that kind of thing could not be—both in the same house—and the girl in love with him—and nothing come of it. It’s a case, I assure you; and it will be a match, as sure as I’m walking beside you.”
“H’m!” ejaculated Aunt Dinah, with a quick little nod and closed lips, looking straight before her.