“Yes, sir. I was in the cloisters, inside one of the niches, and saw it. Charley Channing was in the cloisters, too, but he didn’t see me, and I don’t think Mr. Yorke saw either of us.”
“Why did you not tell me this at the time?”
Mr. Bill Simms stood on his heels and stood on his toes, and pulled his lanky straw-coloured hair, and rubbed his face, ere he spoke. “I was afraid, sir. I knew Mr. Yorke would beat me.”
“Cur!” ejaculated Gerald, below his breath. The head-master turned his eyes upon him.
“Yorke, I—”
A commotion at the door, and Mr. Pye stopped. There burst in a lady with a wide extent of crinoline, but that was not the worst of the bustle. Her cheeks were flushed, her hands lifted, her eyes wild; altogether she was in a state of the utmost excitement. Gerald stared with all his might, and the head-master rose to receive her as she sailed down upon him. It was Lady Augusta Yorke.
CHAPTER LVII. — A GHOST AGAIN.
Minds are differently constituted: as was exemplified in the case under our immediate notice. While one of Mr. Galloway’s first thoughts, on the receipt of Roland Yorke’s letter, was to rush round to Lady Augusta’s with the news, half in anger, half in a reproachful humour, Arthur Channing was deliberating how they could contrive to keep it from her. The one was actuated by an angry, the other by a generous spirit.