"Good morning," resumed Mr. Chattaway to Mr. Wall, putting out unwillingly the tips of two fingers.
Mr. Wall laughed. "I do not see why you should be vexed, Mr. Chattaway. The boy is no son of yours. For myself, all I can say is, that I have been actuated by motives of regard for his interest."
"It remains to be proved whether it will be for his interest," coldly rejoined Mr. Chattaway. "Were I his mother, and this check were dealt out to me, I should send him off to break stones on the road. Good morning, Wall. And I beg you will not bring me here again upon a fool's errand."
George went into the shop, to get from it some personal trifles he had left there. He deemed it well to depart at once, and carry the news home to Mrs. Ryle himself. The cards and trimmings lay in the unfinished state he had left them. What a change, that moment and this! One or two of the employés noticed his radiant countenance.
"Has anything happened?" they asked.
"Yes," answered George. "I have been suddenly lifted into paradise."
He started on his way, leaving his things to be sent after him. His footsteps scarcely touched the ground. Not a rough ridge of the road felt he; not a sharp stone; not a hill. Only when he turned in at the gate did he remember there was his mother's displeasure to be met and grappled with.
Nora gave a shriek when he entered the house. "George! What brings you here?"
"Where's my mother?" was George's only answer.
"In the best parlour," said Nora. "And I can tell you she's not in the best of humours just now, so I'd advise you not to go in."