“Detest you, my dear!” exclaimed Aunt Dinah.
“Mrs. Kincton Knox is awfully offended with me, I don’t know for what. I’ve nothing on earth to charge myself with, and I really don’t care two pence, and I hate to think about them,” said William testily; “and I’d rather talk about anything else.”
Miss Vi looked at William, and glanced at Aunt Dinah, and then laughed, with a pleasant little silvery cadence.
“Dear me! Grannie, what a disappointment. We simple people in this part of the world have been lost for weeks in wonder and respect—we heard such stories of your prowess, and here comes the lady-killer home, harmless William Maubray, as he went.”
“Just so,” said he. “Not William the Conqueror—nothing of the kind; and I don’t think it likely I shall ever try to kill a lady, nor a lady ever kill me. Weapons of iron won’t do nowadays, and a knight-errant of that sort must arm himself with the precious metals, and know how to talk the modern euphuism, and be a much finer man than ever I can hope to be; and even so, when all’s done, it’s a poor profession enough. By Jove! I don’t envy them their adventures, and their exploits, and their drubbings, and their Dulcineas—the best among them is often laid on his back; and I’m not ashamed to say I have more of Sancho Panza than of the Don in my nature.”
“He rails like a wounded knight—doesn’t he, grannie?” laughed Violet.
“I’d like to know who wounded me,” said he.
“We’ll take your own account, William,” said Aunt Dinah, who saw that he was vexed and sore, “and whoever is to blame, I’m very glad. Oh! prayers,” and the little household of Gilroyd trooped solemnly into the room, and the family devotions were performed, William officiating in his old capacity.
“William leaves us early to-morrow,” said Aunt Dinah, glancing regretfully at him.
“Oh?” said Miss Violet.