"Yes I do. And so do you. When I saw the blotches of ink on your wristband that afternoon, and asked what had caused them, that you should be so sedulous to tuck it out of sight, you knew as well as I did that I guessed the secret. I did not tell of you. It would have been a shocking thing, ruining you with the school and with the masters. Not even to forward the interests of Paradyne in a just cause, would I injure you. I wonder if you will ever understand me, Trace; or get to learn that I would be your friend and not your enemy?"
Trace cut the air with his whip; but he gave no answer. At that moment Sir Simon came back, holding out his hand in his cordial manner.
"You are not looking fat and rosy, Mr. Henry. Fagged with the term: it has been a heavy one. Why don't you do as we are going to do—take a trip over the water?"
"To Germany, Sir Simon?"
"Germany!—that's your paradise," laughed Sir Simon. "We are going to Boulogne—not much crossing there, you know, which I confess doesn't agree with me. We get over in an hour and a half. You should try it yourself. Good day!"
The pony carriage rattled off, and Mr. Henry turned to Mrs. Paradyne's. He had a little matter of business to arrange with her. But matters of business were not always palatable to that lady; and there ensued an unprofitable argument between herself and her visitor. He sat at the table in the little drawing-room, his elbow on it, his thin cheek resting on his two fingers. Mrs. Paradyne, dropping her work, a glove of George's that she was mending, talked at him from the sofa, and in her quiet, persistent way, allowed no reasoning but hers to be heard. Seated near her mother was Mary Paradyne, a bright-looking girl of twenty, with her brother George's great grey eyes. She had come home in June, having left the school in Derbyshire, and was seeking daily teaching near home. A Mrs. Hill, living near Pond Place, was negotiating with her.
"Where's George?" asked Mr. Henry, when he at length rose to leave.
Mrs. Paradyne would not answer. She was resenting something that Mr. Henry had said. He approached Miss Paradyne to shake hands, but she left her seat and followed him out.
"You are right and mamma is wrong," she whispered, with the handle of the closed door in her hand, and the tears gathering in her eyes as she lifted them to his. "Oh, I wish she would not be so unjust to you. George is spending the day at William Gall's."
All the answer Mr. Henry made was to bend down and kiss her lips. A very suggestive action, and certainly not discreet. If the boys had but seen!