By this time my conscience was pricking hard, and I shoved my book under my coat and called to him: "Mr.Benson." "You ?" he said.
"I am very sorry," I stammered, blushing, "but I heard what you were saying.

I did not mean to listen.

I thought you knew that I was there." "It is of no importance," he said, turning away; "I have no secrets." But I detained him.
"Mr.Benson! Tell me, please.

You _were_ talking about me, weren't you?
What did you mean about the son of the house not being a servant for ever ?" He hesitated for an instant, and then turned round and came nearer to me.
"It is true, is it not ?" he said.

"Next year you may be clerk.