“Ay! Sometimes the schoolmaster and the pupil are both abroad. Why, how soon you rust in my absence! You don’t understand yet? Those fellows who were here one night. They are the scouts I speak of, as doing me the honour to attend me after dark.”
“How long has this been going on?” asked Lightwood, opposing a serious face to the laugh of his friend.
“I apprehend it has been going on, ever since a certain person went off. Probably, it had been going on some little time before I noticed it: which would bring it to about that time.”
“Do you think they suppose you to have inveigled her away?”
“My dear Mortimer, you know the absorbing nature of my professional occupations; I really have not had leisure to think about it.”
“Have you asked them what they want? Have you objected?”
“Why should I ask them what they want, dear fellow, when I am indifferent what they want? Why should I express objection, when I don’t object?”
“You are in your most reckless mood. But you called the situation just now, a ludicrous one; and most men object to that, even those who are utterly indifferent to everything else.”
“You charm me, Mortimer, with your reading of my weaknesses. (By the by, that very word, reading, in its critical use, always charms me. An actress’s reading of a chambermaid, a dancer’s reading of a hornpipe, a singer’s reading of a song, a marine painter’s reading of the sea, the kettledrum’s reading of an instrumental passage, are phrases ever youthful and delightful.) I was mentioning your perception of my weaknesses. I own to the weakness of objecting to occupy a ludicrous position, and therefore I transfer the position to the scouts.”