“Yes, I should like to know. I do not believe that they know at all what you mean. You are too cunning for them. You are going to take some step——”
“More than one—many steps. I’m going to London to see all that’s going on—to see life. I told ’em so; and instead of looking curious like you, mother, don’t you see, she knows all about it, and wants me to do it. Mother’s a trump! She is that fond of me, she will do whatever I say.”
“The thing is, what are you going to do, Gervase? What do you mean by seeing life?”
He laughed longer than ever, and gave her a nudge with his arm. “Oh, get along, Meg!” he said,—“you know.”
“No, Gervase; tell me. You have always been a good boy—you are not going to do any harm?”
“I never heard it was any harm; it’s what everybody does, and rejoicings about it, and bells ringing, and all that. Don’t you tell—I’m going—— No; I said I wouldn’t say a word, and I won’t. You’ll know when I come back.”
“Gervase, you frighten me very much—you wouldn’t deceive your father and mother that love you so.” She drew a long breath of alarm; then added with relief: “But if he is met at the station and taken care of——”
“That’s it,” said Gervase. “I’m going to be met at the station, and everything done for me. I’ll never be left to myself any more. I’m not very good at taking care of myself, Meg.”
“No,” she cried; “that is quite true. I am so glad you feel that, Gervase. Then you won’t be rebellious, but do what your mother wishes, and what her friend tells you. It will make her so happy.”
“Her friend! Who’s her friend?” said Gervase; and then the peal of his laughter arose once more. “I like my own friend best; but my friend and my mother’s friend being just the same, don’t you see?”