And long the track of light he left behind him!
and before Vaughan had asked himself if he were justified in following, pursued and pursuer were over Bristol Bridge, and making, by way of the Welsh Back—a maze of coal-hoys and dangling cranes—for Queen’s Square.
Vaughan doubted no longer, weighed the propriety of his course no longer. For a cool-headed man of the world, who asked nothing better than to master a silly fancy, he was foolishly perturbed. He made on with a grim face; but a dray loading at a Newport coal-hulk drew across his path, and Flixton was pacing under the pleasant elms and amid the groups that loitered up and down the sunlit Square, before Vaughan came within hail, and called him by name.
Flixton turned then, saw who it was, and grinned—nothing abashed. “Well,” he said, tipping his hat a little to one side, “well, old chap! Are you let out of school too?”
Vaughan had already discovered Mary Smith and her little troop under the trees in the farthest corner. But he tried to smile—and did so, a little awry. “This is not fair play, Flixton,” he said.
“That is just what I think it is,” the Honourable Bob answered cheerfully. “Eh, old chap? Neat trick of yours the other day, but not neat enough! Thought to bamboozle me and win a clear field! Neat! But no go, I found you out and now it is my turn. That’s what I call fair play.”
“Look here, Flixton,” Vaughan replied—he was fast losing his composure—“I’m not going to have it. That’s plain.”
The Honourable Bob stared. “Oh!” he answered. “Let’s understand one another. Are you going to marry the girl after all?”
“I’ve told you——”
“Oh, you’ve told me, yes, and you’ve told me, no. The question is, which is it?”