There was no use trying
to deceive him; there was no pretext of dining with Smirke, or reading
Greek plays with Foker; Pen felt, when he returned from one of his flying
visits, that everybody knew whence he came, and appeared quite guilty
before his mother and guardian, over their books or their game at
picquet.
Once having walked out half a mile, to the Fairoaks Inn, beyond the Lodge
gates, to be in readiness for the Competitor coach, which changed horses
there, to take a run for Chatteris, a man on the roof touched his hat to
the young gentleman: it was his uncle's man, Mr. Morgan, who was going on
a message for his master, and had been took up at the Lodge, as he said.
And Mr. Morgan came back by the Rival, too; so that Pen had the pleasure
of that domestic's company both ways. Nothing was said at home. The lad
seemed to have every decent liberty; and yet he felt himself dimly
watched and guarded, and that there were eyes upon him even in the
presence of his Dulcinea.
In fact, Pen's suspicions were not unfounded, and his guardian had sent
forth to gather all possible information regarding the lad and his
interesting young friend.
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