"You think not. Perhaps, at your age. But it is enough to have you here at last! Your coming removes a load from my mind. There is much to see to, much to arrange. I have waited anxiously for this day. And you have come home, I trust, weary of wandering."
"Like a vagabond, according to Sutton," observed Harvey, with a forced laugh.
"But you have had enough; you will stay at home now," urged Mr. Dalrymple, when Harvey would fain have evaded the question. "This is always your real home."
"I am afraid—not long. I have engagements," Harvey said hesitatingly. He could not resolve to speak yet of two nights only.
"Well, a few weeks will settle things, perhaps. We shall see. And when you go, it will not be for eight years again!"
"I hope not, indeed. It ought not to have been," Harvey said, touched with the gentle rebuke.
"You have not seen Hermione yet?"
"No; I am told that she has fulfilled her childish promise of prettiness."
"More—more than fulfilled it. My child is very lovely, Harvey— a strangely favoured being; and I am favoured in her." He gazed earnestly at the young man. "When you see Hermione you will understand. She is all sweetness—to me a being without fault. I never have to blame my Hermione, for I find nothing to blame. Yet she is natural, simple, girl-like; no forced hot-house plant. I do not fear to say too much of her, for indeed she surpasses all I could say. She is the sunshine of my old age. All who know her, love her as she well deserves to be loved. I trust you will appreciate what she is. My heart's dearest hope for years has been that you—"
Harvey could not let this go on. He broke in abruptly—