Bradley Headstone scrutinized the boy as closely as the boy had scrutinized the gentleman.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Headstone, but I couldn’t help wondering what in the world brought him here!”
Though he said it as if his wonder were past—at the same time resuming the walk—it was not lost upon the master that he looked over his shoulder after speaking, and that the same perplexed and pondering frown was heavy on his face.
“You don’t appear to like your friend, Hexam?”
“I don’t like him,” said the boy.
“Why not?”
“He took hold of me by the chin in a precious impertinent way, the first time I ever saw him,” said the boy.
“Again, why?”
“For nothing. Or—it’s much the same—because something I happened to say about my sister didn’t happen to please him.”
“Then he knows your sister?”
“He didn’t at that time,” said the boy, still moodily pondering.
“Does now?”
The boy had so lost himself that he looked at Mr. Bradley Headstone as they walked on side by side, without attempting to reply until the question had been repeated; then he nodded and answered, “Yes, sir.”
“Going to see her, I dare say.”