"Why, what we're talking about—the service." Young Lechmere gave a little gulp, and added, with a naivete almost pathetic to Spencer Coyle, "The dangers, you know!"
"Do you mean he's thinking of his skin?"
Young Lechmere's eyes expanded appealingly, and what his instructor saw in his pink face—he even thought he saw a tear—was the dread of a disappointment shocking in the degree in which the loyalty of admiration had been great.
"Is he—is he afraid?" repeated the honest lad, with a quaver of suspense.
"Dear no!" said Spencer Coyle, turning his back.
Young Lechmere felt a little snubbed and even a little ashamed; but he felt still more relieved.
Less than a week after this Spencer Coyle received a note from Miss Wingrave, who had immediately quitted London with her nephew. She proposed that he should