Sir William stood stiffly down below, watching with the utmost attention, while the workman upon his bench eyed him with suspicious eyes.
Then Paul’s voice came still more lightly from above, striking strangely upon the ear of his father, who had never heard that tone in it before.
“Confound you, what’s the hurry?” Paul said. “If it’s a dun you ought to know better than to bring him here. I’ll come when I’m ready.”
“Markham! I tell you it’s of the first importance,” said the young man, going a step or two higher, but still quite audible to Sir William.
Then there came a burst of laughter from above, seconded by what sounded to Sir William’s suspicious ears like feminine voices.
“Is it the Vice-chancellor?” said Paul; “or the Provost? Say the word, and I’ll get out over the leads or through the window—”
The next moment he appeared, rubbing his hands in a towel, and without his coat, with a face more full of laughter than, Sir William thought, he had ever seen it before; and this time he felt certain that he heard women laughing up stairs. He was standing with his back to the light, and his son did not see him for the moment.
Paul came down stairs, gradually emerging, always rubbing his hands. He called out—
“Who is it, Spears? What is this fellow making a fuss about?”