“Like as not,” continued Vaga, still incredulous about Reginald Trevor’s conversion, “like as not your ‘modest young fellow of rather melancholy temperament’ is laughing among the loudest of them. I fancy I hear his voice.”
“No, Vag, I don’t think you do. I can’t.”
“Well, may be not. And it’s to be hoped he’s sobered, as you say. He needed it. Strange if he is though, in the retinue of Prince Rupert, whose precept and example are more likely to have a reverse tendency. Possibly Master Rej is only humble in the presence of the High Mightiness, his master. When the big dog is by, the little one has to be on its good behaviour.”
“I scarce think it’s that; and you may be wronging him.”
“If I am I shall be glad to know it. But how odd all this?” she added, yielding to a sudden recollection. “Time was when you, Sab, were all the other way about Rej Trevor; used to caution me against him!”
She had faced towards her sister, and stood with hands full of loose hair that fell as a cataract of molten gold over her ivory shoulders.
“True, I did. And with reasons then. Our father was against him more than I; which may have influenced me.”
“And now?”
“Now I admit never having believed him so very bad—I mean at heart.”
“Oh! nobody ever said he had a very bad heart. His head was more blamed for getting him ill repute.”