Meanwhile, his friends found consolation in the fact that at least he was not disposed to idleness. He read a fair amount, studied popular questions, looked into business matters, went in for abundance of pedestrian and equestrian exercise, and contrived on the whole to fill up his time creditably. Sometimes he talked of setting up a hunter, and sometimes he planned writing a book; but he had no great passion either for hunting or penmanship. Sybella's horror of guns had hitherto rather stood in the way of shooting, except when he was away from home. Her horror of cigars was less inconvenient, since, though not much addicted to smoking as a habit, he could always retreat to his den, when desirous to escape from her talk or her temper.
In a general way, Cyril would have spent many a spare hour at Dulveriford Rectory; but on his return before Christmas, he found Jean still so entirely occupied in attendance on her father, as to be rarely visible. As he could not have Jean, he went in for Emmie Lucas.
He did not yet know his own mind about the two girls—though not from any lack of self-watching—and he was drifting fast to a position where he would be likely to act as if he did know it.
Emmie's dark face, small and rosy and sweet, was gaining more and more a hold upon him. She was not aware of the fact herself, being very young, unversed in the ways of the world, and kitten-like in simplicity. She would chat and laugh with Sir Cyril, as easily as if she had been his sister, delighted always to see him, because her father had so few friends. But naturally, Cyril did not ascribe this delight to thoughtfulness for her father—though he still kept up the little fiction of coming perpetually to call upon Captain Lucas. If Captain Lucas were out or busy, it was a matter of course that he should stay for a talk with the ladies.
As already intimated, Cyril did not drift unknowingly. He was too much given to self-analysing not to see whither his barque floated. Sometimes he grew uneasy, and thought he would not call on the Lucases for a few days; which "few days" seldom extended themselves beyond two nights. Sometimes he felt a desperate inclination to break through everything, to get utterly away from Dulveriford for a year or two years.
Why not? He had no binding duties at home; or anywhere else, unfortunately. He had pottered abut a good deal in Swiss and German hotels with Miss Devereux; but a wide world unexplored lay beyond. Why not take a more extended tour—say to the Antipodes—in search of a vocation, or at least to see what the effect of separation might be on himself and others? There was money enough; and "aunt Sybella" could remain in charge at the Brow.
But these were evening and night thoughts chiefly. He said nothing about them in the daytime.
Indeed, he seldom spoke of his friends, the Lucases, before Miss Devereux; and she had as yet not the slightest idea how far things had gone. Cyril had quite made up his mind to do nothing hasty; to be drawn into no rash or ill-considered step. He would see his way, clear as daylight, before he would commit himself. Satisfied with this resolution, he went on calling at the red house.
[CHAPTER XI.]
ON THE ROCKS.