A boy like John’s dashing friend David Mitchell, someone who shares your love of academics. She was quite assured that she would never see him again. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. The young rascal had learnt from some of the women-servants that Lady Trafford was from home, and was in the very act of making off when I got down stairs. This employment seemed to afford him the highest satisfaction; for a diabolical grin—it cannot be called a smile—played upon his face all the time he was engaged in it. All I can say is, it's well meant; and I may add, I'd have made it five minutes ago, if you'd given me the opportunity.
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