ed
between them from the rector's knowledge.

Here again Mr. Brock's diplomacy achieved no useful results.

Once started on the subject of Ozias Midwinter, Allan rattled on about
his new friend in his usual easy, light-hearted way. But he had really
nothing of importance to tell, for nothing of importance had been
revealed to him. They had talked about boat-building and sailing by the
hour together, and Allan had got some valuable hints. They had discussed
(with diagrams to assist them, and with more valuable hints for Allan)
the serious impending question of the launch of the yacht. On other
occasions they had diverged to other subjects--to more of them than
Allan could remember, on the spur of the moment. Had Midwinter said
nothing about his relations in the flow of all this friendly talk?
Nothing, except that they had not behaved well to him--hang his
relations! Was he at all sensitive on the subject of his own odd name?
Not the least in the world; he had set the example, like a sensible
fellow, of laughing at it himself.

Mr. Brock still persisted. He inquired next what Allan had seen in the
stranger to take such a fancy to? Allan had seen in him--what he didn't
see in people in general. He wasn't like all the other fellows in the
neighborhood. All the other fellows were cut out on the same pattern.
Every man of them was equally healthy, muscular, loud, hard-hearted,
clean-skinned, and rough; every man of them drank the same draughts of
beer, smoked the same short pipes all day long, rode the best horse,
shot over the best dog, and put the best bottle of wine in England on
his table at night; every man of them sponged himself every morning
in the same sort of tub of cold water and bragged about it in frosty
weather in the same sort of way; every man of them thought getting
into debt a capital joke and betting on horse-races one of the most
meritorious actions that a human being can perform. They were, no doubt,
excellent fellows in their way; but the worst of them was, they were
all exactly alike. It was a perfect godsend to meet with a man like
Midwinter--a man who was not cut out on the regular local pattern, and
whose way in the world had the one great merit (in those parts) of being
a way of his own.

Leaving all remonstrances for a fitter opportunity, the rector went back
to Mrs. Armadale. He could not disguise from himself that Allan's mother
was the person really answerable for Allan's present indiscretio