Bobbie expressed pleasure at the prospect; then his amiable countenance--the face of an "Idle Apprentice," whom no god has the heart to punish--sobered to a real concern as the association of ideas led him to inquire what the latest news might be of Oliver Marsham.
Sir James shook his head; his look clouded. He understood from Lady Lucy that Oliver was no better; the accounts, in fact, were very bad.
"Did they arrest anybody?" asked Bobbie.
"At Hartingfield? Yes--two lads. But there was not evidence enough to convict. They were both released, and the village gave them an ovation."
Bobbie hesitated.
"What do you think was the truth about that article?"
Sir James frowned and rose.
"Miss Wilson, come and see my garden. If you don't fall down and worship the peaches on my south wall, I shall not pursue your acquaintance."
It was a Saturday afternoon. Briefs were forgotten. The three strolled down the garden. Sir James, in a disreputable shooting-coat and cap, his hands deep in his pockets, took the middle of the path--the two lovers on either side. Chide made himself delightful to them. On that Italian journey of which he constantly thought, Ferrier had been amused and cheered all through by Bobbie's nonsense; and the young fellow had loyally felt his death--and shown it. Chide's friendly eye would be on him and his Ettie henceforward.