CHAPTER XLV.
VIOLET DARKWELL AT GILROYD AGAIN
“Mrs. Kincton Knox” it said, “presents her compliments to the Rev. W. H. Sprague, and as Mr. Kincton Knox is suffering from gout in his hand, which though slight, prevents his writing, she is deputed to apprise him that the gentleman calling himself Mr. Herbert, who has been acting as tutor at Kincton, need not return to complete his engagement. Mr. Kincton Knox desires to remit to him, through your hands, the enclosed cheque, payable to you, and for the full amount of the term he was to have completed. Should the young man feel that, under the circumstances, he can have no right to retain the entire amount, he will be so good as to return that portion of the sum to which he feels himself unentitled. We wish to mention that we part with him not in consequence of any specific fault, so much as from a feeling, upon consideration, that we could no longer tolerate the practice of a concealment at Kincton, the character and nature of which—although we impute nothing—might not consist with our own ideas upon the subject.”
“She begins in the third person and ends in the first,” said Doctor Sprague, “otherwise it is a very fine performance. What am I to do about the check?”
“I will not touch a farthing,” said William.
“Tut, tut; I think you’ve a right to it all, but if you object, we’ll send them back all that represents the unexpired part of your engagement, but I’ll have no Quixotism. I’m half sorry, Maubray, we ever thought of tuitions: we must think of some other way. You’re quite right in resolving not to vex Miss Perfect more than you can help, I’m clear upon that; but I’ve been thinking of quite another thing—I have not time now to tell you all.” He glanced at his watch. “But you can speak French, and you would have to reside in Paris. I think it would answer you very nicely, and I think you ought to let Miss Perfect know something of your plans, considering all she has done. I’ll see you here again in an hour.”
And William took his leave.
That evening Miss Violet Darkwell arrived at Gilroyd. She did not think old “grannie” looking well—was it a sadness or a feebleness—there was something unusual in her look that troubled her. She thought her Violet looking quite beautiful—more so than ever—so perhaps she was. And she asked her all sorts of questions about all sorts of things, and how the Mainwarings had arranged the rooms, for Aunt Dinah had known the house long ago, and whether the paint had ever been taken off that covered the old oak wainscot in the parlour, and ever so many other particulars besides.