"Oh no, of course not; why should he be?" said Mr. Trafford carelessly. "When a poor fellow has been toiling away day after day for months, it would be a crying shame to grudge him a little change of air when he happens to get a day's holiday."
"Don't you like the bank any better, Donald?" asked Evelyn.
"Any better!" exclaimed Mr. Trafford, starting from his seat. "I hate it, Evelyn. I shall run away some day, I declare I shall."
"Oh no, you won't, there's a dear, good Donald," she said; "papa would be so angry."
"I can't help that, Evelyn," he said; "you would run away if you were in my place; it is nothing but work, work, work, day after day, and I hate work. I can't help it, it is my nature. I was never meant to work; some people are, and they like work; but I never did and never shall."
At this moment Sir William's step was heard in the corridor.
"Here's papa," said Evelyn, hurriedly; "oh, Donald, I wonder what he will say."
"I don't care," said Mr. Trafford, with a laugh; "if the old gentleman has the least sense of—"
But here the door opened, and Sir William came in.
His nephew rose to meet him in the most affectionate and confident manner, and as if he were perfectly sure of a welcome.