"Well, I do think, as a matter of conscience and fairness, you ought to hold your tongue, and keep faith with poor Wynne," said Cleve, rudely, "and I think he was a monstrous fool to tell you. You know I'm interested," continued Cleve, perceiving that his vehemence surprised Tom Sedley; "because I have no faith in Larkin—I think him a sneak and a hypocrite, and a rogue—of course that's in confidence, and he's doing all in his power to get a fast hold of my uncle, and to creep into Wynne Williams's place, and a thing like this, with a hard unreasonable fellow like my uncle, would give him such a lift as you can't imagine."
"But, I'm not going to tell; unless you tell, or he, I don't know who's to tell it—I won't, I know."
"And about Sir Booth—of course he's not in England now—but neither is he in Italy," said Tom.
"It's well he has you to keep his 'log' for him," said Cleve.
"He's in France."
"Oh!"
"Yes, in the north of France, somewhere near Caen," said Tom Sedley.
"I wonder you let him get so near England. It seems rather perilous, doesn't it?"
"So one would think, but there he is. Tom Blackmore, of the Guards—you know him?"
"No, I don't."