The doctor laughed.
“I like your ideas of the medical profession. Its duties are variegated and lively. However, make yourself easy this time. I hear to-day that the young ladies at the Vicarage with their governess are to go on Monday to Devonshire.”
“Good,” said Mr Armstrong, decidedly relieved.
“When does your ward return?” said the doctor. “I dislike this London business altogether. Oliphant is not to be trusted with a boy of his delicate make. You should have stopped it.”
The tutor said nothing, but looked decidedly dejected. He was greatly tempted to confide the difficulties of the situation to his friend. But the dead Squire’s secret was not his to give away.
“Unless they come home soon,” said he, “I have a notion of returning from Oxford by way of London.”
“Do—the sooner the better.”
When, on the next day, Miss Rosalind sailed up to Maxfield to bid her brother and sister farewell, it fell to the tutor’s lot to escort her back to the Vicarage.
“Mr Armstrong,” said she abruptly, as they went, “why have you and Roger quarrelled?”
Mr Armstrong looked round uncomfortably.