“Then I shall introduce myself,” said Drysdale; “see if I don't sit next him, now, at your wine on Thursday.”
Here Drysdale's scout entered with two notes, and wished to know if Mr. Drysdale would require anything more. Nothing but hot water; he could put the kettle on, Drysdale said, and go; and while the scout was fulfilling his orders, he got up carelessly, whistling, and walking to the fire, read the notes by the light of one of the candles which were burning on the mantle-piece. Blake was watching him eagerly, and Tom saw this, and made some awkward efforts to go on talking about the advantages of Hardy's plan for learning history. But he was talking to deaf ears, and soon came to a stand still. He saw Drysdale crumple up the notes in his hand and shove them into his pocket. After standing for a few seconds in the same position, with his back to them, he turned around with a careless air, and sauntered to the table where they were sitting.
“Let's see, what were we saying?” he began. “Oh, about your eccentric pal, Brown.”
“You've answers from both?” interrupted Blake. Drysdale nodded, and was beginning to speak again to Tom when Blake got up and said, with white lips, “I must see them.”
“No, never mind, what does it matter?”
“Matter! by heaven, I must and will see them now.”
Tom saw at once that he had better go, and so took up his cap, wished them good night, and went off to his own rooms.
He might have been sitting there for about twenty minutes, when Drysdale entered.
“I couldn't help coming over, Brown,” he said, “I must talk to some one, and Blake has gone off raging. I don't know what he'll do—I never was so bothered or savage in my life.”
“I am very sorry,” said Tom; “he looked very bad in your rooms. Can I do anything?”