He had kept his appointment,
and was now going home. His host was riding with him for a short
distance; meaning to return by a pleasant track, which Mr Pecksniff had
engaged to show him, through some fields. Jonas knew their plans. He had
hung about the inn-yard while they were at dinner and had heard their
orders given.
They were loud and merry in their conversation, and might have been
heard at some distance; far above the sound of their carriage wheels
or horses' hoofs. They came on noisily, to where a stile and footpath
indicated their point of separation. Here they stopped.
'It's too soon. Much too soon,' said Mr Pecksniff. 'But this is the
place, my dear sir. Keep the path, and go straight through the little
wood you'll come to. The path is narrower there, but you can't miss it.
When shall I see you again? Soon I hope?'
'I hope so,' replied Montague.
'Good night!'
'Good night. And a pleasant ride!'
So long as Mr Pecksniff was in sight, and turned his head at intervals
to salute him, Montague stood in the road smiling, and waving his hand.
But when his new partner had disappeared, and this show was no longer
necessary, he sat down on the stile with looks so altered, that he might
have grown ten years older in the meantime.
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