So they shook hands, each thinking more highly of the other. I’m afraid our mutual estimates are seldom metaphysically justifiable.
“Well,” thought Trevor, as he smoked his way up hill to the house, “no one can say I have not spoken plain enough. I should not like to have to give up that little acquaintance. It’s an awfully slow part of the world. And now they know everything. If the old woman was thinking about anything, this will put it quite out of her head; and I can be careful, poor little thing! It would be a devil of a thing if she did grow to like me.”
And with a lazy smile he let himself in, and had a little sherry and water, and Bell’s Life in the drawing-room.
William Maubray experienced an unaccountable expansion of spirits and sympathies, as he strode along the pathway that debouches close upon the gate of Gilroyd Hall. Everything looked so beautiful, and so interesting, and so serene. He loitered for a moment to gaze on the moon: and recollecting how late it was he rang at the bell fiercely, hoping to find Violet Darkwell still in the drawing-room.
“Well, Tom, my aunt in the drawing-room?” said William, as he confided his coat and hat to that faithful domestic.
“Ay, Sir, she be.”
“And Miss Darkwell?”
“Gone up wi’ Mrs. Winnie some time.”
“Oh, that’s all right, nothing like early sleep for young heads, Tom: it’s rather late,” said William Maubray, disappointed, in a cheerful tone.
So he opened the door, and found Aunt Dinah in the drawing-room.