Tom thought a good deal about Rosamund during the week, and
regarded Sunday as the red-letter day of his calendar. Master Cale
did not forbid him to be of their company upon the afternoons when
they walked abroad, and he and the maid were excellent friends by
this time, and exchanged many gay quips and sallies together.
Rosamund always made him tell the story of his past week in some
detail; and Tom had therefore another motive for keeping free from
scenes and company which would have made his story unfit hearing
for her pretty ears.
Already he had begun to think that when he had travelled and seen
the world, and was ready to go home and take up the duties which at
five and twenty would devolve upon him, he would return with far
greater contentment and pleasure if he could take back Rosamund as
his wife. He could not fancy that any life would be dull and
monotonous shared with her, nor any home dreary that was lightened
by the sunshine of her presence.
The image of Rosamund had begun almost to obliterate that of Lord
Claud in his imagination, when suddenly one day he found himself
again in company of that gentleman at the coffee house he generally
frequented.
Lord Claud laid a friendly hand upon his shoulder, saying, with a
light laugh:
"O Tom, Tom, whom I called so trusty, I fear me you are as fickle
as any maid! But what does the prophet when the mountain will not
come to him? He even puts his pride in his pocket and goes to the
mountain.
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