"Oh, then I have no fears as to your discretion; so I will ask you a question, knowing that you are wise enough to refuse me an answer if I am asking too much."
The boy smiled, and stood attentive.
"May I ask if Mr. Bathurst is really now in W——, and when he arrived?"
The boy laughed an odd laugh, and full of mischief.
"Mr. Bathurst is here," he said. "I can't tell just when he did arrive."
"Then you did not come together?"
"We! Oh, no, indeed!" laughing again. "Mr. Bathurst is too smart for that."
Constance smiled with a returning feeling of ease and restfulness.
"Ah, I see I can trust Mr. Bathurst—and you, and lest I ask the wrong question if I continue, I will not ask another one; tell Mr. Bathurst I rely on him to straighten all the tangles; and that I like his messenger almost as much as his message."
"My, but ain't she a rum young lady," mused the boy, as he trudged away from Wardour Place with his lightened tray of ivories, "and handsome! jingo! if I was Mr. Bathurst I'd work for her, just to see her smile, and no pay; but Lord, he don't care, he don't; he'll work just as hard for any old crone; he's another rum one."