My eye caught Roger’s. I did not intend it. Caught the bitter expression in it as he turned away.
Brighton reached, we went on the pier. Then, while they did some commissions for Lady Bevere at various shops, I went to the post-office, to register two letters for Mr. Brandon. Tottams wanted to keep with me, but they took her, saying she’d be too troublesome. The letters registered, I came out of the office, and was turning away, when some one touched me on the arm.
“Mr. Ludlow, I think! How are you?”
To my surprise it was Richard Scott. He seemed equally surprised to see me. I told him I had come down with Roger Bevere to spend Christmas week at Prior’s Glebe.
“Lucky fellow!” exclaimed Scott, “I have to go back to London and drudgery this evening: came down with my governor last night for an operation to-day. Glad to say it’s all well over.”
But a thought had flashed into my mind: I ought not to have said so much. Drawing Scott out of the passing crowd, I spoke.
“Look here, Scott: you must be cautious not to say that Bevere’s down here. You must not speak of it.”
“Speak where?” asked Scott, turning his head towards me. He had put his arm within mine as we walked along. “Where?”
“Oh—well—up with you, you know—in Bevere’s old quarters. Or—or in the railway-room at the Bell-and-Clapper.”
Scott laughed. “I understand. Madam Lizzie might be coming after him to his mother’s. But—why, what an odd thing!”