When Montagu went back to his lessons he found his tutor, with earthy hands clasped behind him, restlessly pacing up and down his room.
"I think you've done enough this morning," said Mr. Wycherly. "You'd better go out and play while it is so fine and nice."
"It's not twelve o'clock yet," Montagu objected, "and I generally do lessons till twelve."
"We shall have plenty of wet days by-and-by," Mr. Wycherly answered. "Go out now, and make the most of it while it is fine."
"But Robina and Edmund's gone, and Aunt Esperance is busy—won't you come?"
"Yes, I'll come." But yet Mr. Wycherly made no move to get ready.
"I've washed my hands," Montagu remarked virtuously.
Mr. Wycherly started, unclasped his hands and held them out in front of him. "I fear," he said sadly, "that nothing will wash mine." A remark which puzzled Montagu extremely, for in a few minutes Mr. Wycherly returned from his bedroom with perfectly clean hands.
It was a very silent walk at first, and what conversation there was Montagu made. At last he grew rather tired of this one-sided intercourse and gave his companion's hand a tug as he demanded: "Are you asleep, that you don't never answer?"
Mr. Wycherly started. "No, my dear son," he said very gently; "I think that I am just beginning to be awake."