He
began to talk of his holiday abroad, when all at once his
countenance fell, his lips closed; in the pleasure of being "at
home," he had forgotten all about Norbert Franks, and very unwelcome
were the thoughts which attached themselves to this recollection of
his days at Trient.
"What's the matter?" asked Jane, noticing his change of look.
"Oh, nothing--a stupid affair. I wrote to you about the Pomfrets
and their niece. I'm afraid that girl is an idiot. She used the
opportunity of her absence, I find, to break with Franks. No excuse
whatever; simply sent him about his business."
"Oh!" exclaimed both the ladies, who had been interested in the
artist's love story, as narrated to them, rather badly, by Will on
former occasions.
"Of course, I don't know much about it. But it looks bad. Perhaps
it's the best thing that could have happened to Franks, for it may
mean that he hasn't made money fast enough to please her."
"But you gave us quite another idea of Miss Elvan," said his mother.
"Yes, I daresay I did. Who knows? I don't pretend to understand such
things."
A little before sunset came Mr. Turnbull, who took supper at The
Haws, and was fetched away by his coachman at ten o'clock. With this
old friend, who in Will's eyes looked no older now than when he
first knew him in early childhood, they talked freely of the
Applegarth business, and Mr. Turnbull promised to make inquiries at
once. Of course, he took a despondent view of jam.
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