“You off by this train?” says the latter to Wraysford.
“Yes; are you?”
“I may as well. I can get home by nine; and my people won’t be in a great rage if I turn up earlier than they expect.”
“Well, we may as well get a fly as wait for the wretched omnibus,” says Wraysford. “Come along; there are flies at the corner of Hall Street.”
Out walked the two, saying good-bye to one or two on the road. At the drive gate two boys are standing waiting for the omnibus. Wraysford and Pembury are upon them before they observe that these are Oliver and his brother.
What is to be done? There is no escaping them—they must pass; yet both of them, somehow, would at that moment—they couldn’t tell why—have dropped into the earth.
Oliver looks up as they approach.
Now or never! Wraysford feels he must say something!
“Good-bye, Greenfield,” he says. “I hope—”
Oliver quietly takes Stephen’s arm and turns on his heel.