"Can it be possible that the change in his conduct towards me lately is caused by jealousy?" asked Harry. "It appears to me as if he did not like to see me here."
"Impossible," said Linda, laughing; "Bob jealous of you—O! that would be absurd. O! here comes the dear fellow."
And with fairy footsteps she tripped towards the gate, where she expected to be folded in Bob's arms. But merely taking her hand, he said "There—don't be childish," and led her up to the house where Harry stood on the steps. "Don't be childish"—never had he behaved like this before. Linda felt perplexed and disappointed. Was her love becoming cheap, and of no account?
Bob was handsomer, and, if possible, more fascinating than ever. Linda and he formed a fine pair, Bob so graceful, with limbs so correctly moulded, face so exquisitely modelled, lit by the incessant play of the feelings; she so gentle, fairy-like, beautiful. But Robert's face was not exactly as when last we saw it. There was on it this evening a sort of impatient, sulking expression, as if he were fretting and had been disappointed. He did not meet Harry with his usual ardor, and he flung into the house in a mood which utterly astonished Linda and Harry, who followed in a sort of dazed way.
"I've seen an old friend to-day," said Robert, shortly.
"Indeed?" said Harry, for Linda was unable to speak. The tears were gathering in her eyes. She did not know whether to cry or to sulk, but the predisposition was towards the latter.
"Yes," continued Robert; "and who do you think he was?"
"I really can't guess," said Harry.
"Well, no other than Hugh Hanlon," said Robert.
Both listeners expressed surprise, and Linda almost forgot her sulks in the interest of the revelation.
"Yes; and he's doing capitally," continued Robert.
"I am glad to hear it," said Harry. "I told you on that day when the scene in the bank took place, that he would be driven to rely upon himself, which would restore him to his senses."
"O! yes," said Robert; "we had a famous laugh over that affair; Hugh told me he will never forget the ridiculous figure he cut when he went into heroics."
"And what is he doing now?" asked Harry.
"Leading a splendid life," said Robert: "Not the hum-drum sort I live; his is a glorious independent existence. He got some money from a relative, and went with it. Under the Verandah, where he's made a little pile in speculating in mining stocks. He's promised to give me the tip now and then. He does a little in betting, too, and has a book on the great sporting events."
"Hu—m," said Harry.
"Oh! Sobersides, I know you'd object to that," said Robert, "but his idea is that everything by which money can be made, so long as it's honest, is right. And all these great bookmakers carry on their operations in a business-like manner. Look at the life he lives, and the life I live. He goes about wherever he pleases all day, drives in his carriage, goes to the opera every night, lives on the best, and does nothing, while I have to stand at a desk the whole live-long day, just getting out in the evening in time to catch the train, and come home to drone away the remainder of the evening."
Drone away the remainder of the evening! Linda felt almost in a passion at that. Was it Robert—"Bobs"—who was speaking?
"Don't speak that way, Bob," said Harry; "his is simply the glory of a day; you will see him abject as ever, for such prosperity is not lasting, while you will go on and on, rising to a higher position, and a larger income, respected by all, and holding an enviable station society—"
"Yes, when I'm an interesting old bald-headed man of sixty, and can't enjoy anything except bad temper. [Linda thought he enjoyed that now.] I tell you, Harry, I've seen such fortunes made in mining and betting, that I've half a mind to have a try, too."
"There is nothing like steady industry," said Harry. "The man who hastes to get rich generally falls by the way."
"Oh! It's all very well for you to go on in that style," said Robert impatiently! "You've fallen into a fortune, and become a wealthy man. I don't see how I am to get rich, except by a bold stroke like that of Hugh Hanlon. What a nice thing it is every day to be snubbed by a manager and inspector, and 'kept under.' Well, how long will it be before dinner's ready, Linda; I want to go back to town."
"What to do, Robert?" asked Linda.
Perhaps Bob was going to ask why she wanted to know, for he was in a most unenviable mood; but he stopped himself, and replied that he was going back to make up some accounts.
