Oliver bent his head in a blunt, constrained way and looked doubtfully at the other. Percival, who was going to extend his hand, withheld it, and made a stately little bow in return.
"That's very magnificent," said Addie to him.—"Why, Noll," she laughed, "you needn't be so cautious. Percival knows. He is to be trusted."
"Ah!" said Oliver. "What does that feel like, now?"
"What does what feel like?" said Thorne as they shook hands. "Being trusted, do you mean?"
"Ay. Being trusted or being to be trusted. I don't know either sensation myself."
"Not likely, dear boy," said Addie, "with your way of going on. And yet Mr. Osborne must have trusted you, or how did you get the money and get away? You weren't to have any till you sailed, were you?"
"Would you like to know?" said Oliver, his dark eyes twinkling. "I tried to persuade him—no good. Then I told him a—don't be horrified—it was a very fine specimen of fiction—"
"Oliver!"
"Which is no doubt set down to the governor's account."
"Did he believe you?"