‘You are an avid reader, I take it. ‘Mad as hatters!’ ‘It is you who is mad,’ mademoiselle told him crossly. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage. Spurlock began to munch his water-chestnuts. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead. The Trenchard estates will likewise be mine, for Sir Rowland is no more, and the youth, Thames, will never again see daylight.
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