Vetch, don't, don't worry; the blanket's up to my chin, and I haven't tumbled yet.'
Hyacinth heard himself say these things as if he were listening to another person; the impudence of them, under the circumstances, seemed to him, somehow, so rare. But he believed himself to be on the edge of an episode in which impudence, evidently, must play a considerable part, and he might as well try his hand at it without delay. The way the old man gazed at him might have indicated that he too was able to take the measure of his perversity—that he knew he was false as he sat there declaring that there was nothing the matter, while a brand-new revolutionary commission burned in his pocket. But in a moment Mr. Vetch said, very mildly, as if he had really been reassured, 'It's wonderful how you read my thoughts. I don't trust you; I think there are beastly possibilities. It's not true, at any rate, that I come to look at you every five minutes. You don't know how often I have resisted my fears—how I have forced myself to let you alone.'
'You had better let me come and live with you, as I proposed after Pinnie's death. Then you will have me always under your eyes,' said Hyacinth, smiling.
The old man got up eagerly, and, as Hyacinth did the same, laid his hands upon his shoulders, holding him close. 'Will you now, really, my boy? Will you come to-night?'
'To-night, Mr. Vetch?'
'To-night has worried me more than any other, I don't know why. After my tea I had my pipe and a glass, but I couldn't keep quiet; I was very, very bad. I got to thinking of Pinnie—she seemed to be in the room. I felt as if I could put out my hand and touch her. If I believed
