“I’m often sorry for him,” said the father; “he has no mother, and I am too much occupied to be much with him. I wish he had some good friends in London.”
He emphasised the word “good,” as much as to say that some of his son’s friends were not very desirable.
The servant brought in supper, and said that Master Edward would be down presently.
Meanwhile our host chatted pleasantly, chiefly about his parish and his plans for improving it. I could not help admiring him more and more as he went on. He was not, to all appearance, a very clever man, but there was an honest ring about all he said which made me feel that, had I only known him in the months past I might have been spared many of my follies and troubles.
At last there was a step in the hall outside, and the door opened. What was our amazement and consternation when we beheld in Edward, the good clergyman’s son—Hawkesbury!
Our consternation, however, hardly exceeded his, on seeing who his father’s visitors were. And as for the clergyman himself, the sight of our mutual astonishment fairly took him aback.
It was half a minute at least before any one could sufficiently recover his surprise to speak. During the interval my great fear was how Smith would act. I knew he detested Hawkesbury, and believed him to be a hypocrite and a deceiver, and I knew too that he was rarely able to contain himself when face to face with the fellow. How he would behave now, a guest in the father’s house, I could not imagine. Fool that I was! I was always doubting my friend!
“Why, how is this,” said Mr Hawkesbury, “you seem to know one another?”
“Yes,” said I, “Hawkesbury here is at Merrett, Barnacle, and Company’s with Smith and me.”
“How very curious!” said the clergyman; “and, to be sure, I neither knew your names, nor you mine. Well, as you all know one another, I needn’t introduce you.”