'Do you stay here long, Mr. Drood?' says Neville.
'Not this time,' is the careless answer. 'I leave for London
again, to-morrow. But I shall be here, off and on, until next
Midsummer; then I shall take my leave of Cloisterham, and England
too; for many a long day, I expect.'
'Are you going abroad?'
'Going to wake up Egypt a little,' is the condescending answer.
'Are you reading?'
'Reading?' repeats Edwin Drood, with a touch of contempt. 'No.
Doing, working, engineering. My small patrimony was left a part of
the capital of the Firm I am with, by my father, a former partner;
and I am a charge upon the Firm until I come of age; and then I
step into my modest share in the concern. Jack--you met him at
dinner--is, until then, my guardian and trustee.'
'I heard from Mr. Crisparkle of your other good fortune.'
'What do you mean by my other good fortune?'
Neville has made his remark in a watchfully advancing, and yet
furtive and shy manner, very expressive of that peculiar air
already noticed, of being at once hunter and hunted. Edwin has
made his retort with an abruptness not at all polite. They stop
and interchange a rather heated look.
'I hope,' says Neville, 'there is no offence, Mr. Drood, in my
innocently referring to your betrothal?'
'By George!' cries Edwin, leading on again at a somewhat quicker
pace; 'everybody in this chattering old Cloisterham refers to it I
wonder no public-house has been set up, with my portrait for the
sign of The Betrothed's Head.
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