In his heart Rupert felt very angry. An individual must be remarkably good looking to approve of a mirror which reflects him feature by feature, wrinkle by wrinkle, exactly as he is!
CHAPTER VIII.
MR. SWANLAND STIRS HIS TEA.
At a few minutes before six next morning, as Messrs. Lang and Hankins were coming up the road, still sleepy after the long rest afforded by the previous day, they saw Rupert Halling advancing to meet them.
It was a miserable morning, raining a fine drizzling rain with a cold wind blowing at the same time, but Rupert, careless as usual of the state of the weather, walked along under the trees, his cap a little on one side, his shooting-jacket flying open, whistling a low soft melody confidentially to himself.
"Good morning," he said to the men. "No one could call this a fine one. Lang, give the keys to Hankins and walk with me a little way; I want to speak to you."
In a few words Mr. Halling explained his difficulty, and asked Lang to help him out of it.
"I can manage that easily enough," was the answer. "Luckily I did not make up my books on Saturday as I generally do. Now, sir, remember you know nothing except that you understood I was short twenty-five pounds for the wages. Leave all the rest to me."
"You are sure, Lang, you do not mind interfering in this."