He flung himself into a chair and stretched his legs.

‘Been to the lecture?’ he asked, as his sister left the room.

‘Yes,’ Gilbert replied, his wonted quietness contrasting with the other’s noise.  ’Mr. Egremont’s been asking me about you.  He’s disappointed that you’ve left him.’

’Can’t help it.  I held out as long as I could.  It isn’t my line.  Besides, nothing’s my line just now.  So you had a talk with him, eh?’

’Yes, a talk I shan’t forget.  There are not many men like Mr. Egremont.’

Gilbert had it on his lips to speak of the library project, but a doubt as to whether he might not be betraying confidence checked him.

‘He wants you to go and see him at the lecture-room,’ he continued, ’either on Sunday after the lecture, or any evening that suits you.  Will you go?’

Luke shook his head.

‘No.  What’s the good?’

‘I wish you would, Ackroyd,’ said Gilbert, bending forward and speaking with earnestness.  ’You’d be glad of it afterwards.  He said I was to ask you to go and have a smoke with him by the fire; you needn’t be afraid of a sermon, you see.  Besides, you know he isn’t that kind of man.’

‘No, I shan’t go, old man,’ returned the other, with resolution.  ’I liked his lectures well enough, as far as they went, but they’re not the kind of thing to suit me nowadays.  If I go and talk to him, I’m bound to go to the lectures.  What’s the good?  What’s the good of anything?’

Gilbert became silent.  The little girl on the stool, who had been moving restlessly, suddenly said: 

‘Uncle, take me on your lap.’

‘Why, of course I will, little un!’ Luke replied with a sudden affectionateness one would not have expected of him.  ’Give me a kiss.  Who’s that sitting there, eh?’

‘Dono.’

‘Nonsense!  Say:  Mr. Grail.’

In the midst of this, Mrs. Poole reappeared with the jug foaming.

‘Oh, indeed!  So that’s where you are!’ she exclaimed with her vivacious emphasis, looking at the child.  ’A nice thing for you to be nursed at this hour o’ night!—­Now just one glass, Mr. Grail.  It’s a bitter night; just a glass to walk on.’

Gilbert pleased her by drinking what she offered.  Ackroyd had recommenced his uproarious mirthfulness.

’I wish you could persuade your brother to go to the lectures again, Mrs. Poole,’ said Gilbert.  ‘He misses a great deal.’

‘And he’ll miss a good deal more,’ she replied, ’if he doesn’t soon come to his senses.  Nay, it’s no good o’ me talking!  He used to be a sensible lad—­that is, he could be if he liked.’

Gilbert gave his hand for leave-taking.

‘I still hope you’ll go on Sunday night,’ he said seriously.

Ackroyd shook his head again, then tossed the child into the air and began singing.  He did not offer to accompany Grail up to the door.

CHAPTER IX