Mr. Fitzalan made one negative movement of his head, the expressive eyes saying much that he did not put into words. He at least knew more of those circumstances than Hermione could know; and while not at all disposed, as he had said, to defend Harvey's manner of proceeding, he could make allowance for the difficulties of Harvey's position; he could believe that this sharp cutting of the Gordian knot had been done from motives not altogether thoughtless or unkind, though in his estimation mistaken. His view of the affair was perhaps even more indulgent than Harvey's own view, just because he was better acquainted with the strength of Mr. Dalrymple's desire, and the persistency of Mr. Dalrymple's will.
But he was aware that to argue the question with Hermione would be fruitless, and he turned from her towards the couch.
"Marjie, are you fit for school this afternoon?"
"Yes, father. Is it time to go?"
"Nearly. Time for you to get your hat, I am afraid. Would you not rather stay at home?"
"O no. I can't be spared."
She went at once for hat, parasol, and books, struggling against a degree of lassitude which even her father did not suspect, or he would have insisted instead of only suggesting. There were no lounging airs or gestures of fatigue, such as many people adopt in not very strong health; and she would not allow herself to lag behind the other two in their ten minutes' walk to the schoolroom. Rather oddly it had been built at the farther end of the village, not near the Church.
Clouds were gone, and the June sun blazed in through the schoolroom windows, not much softened by yellow blinds. Children and teachers were alike languid that day, with the exception of Hermione, who sat upright in her white dress, cool and collected, speaking with ready words and earnest persuasive looks. She was a very successful Sunday-school teacher. The worst children in the school were by common consent handed over to her, and Hermione could do what she chose with any of them.
Marjory, a few yards off, just struggled through her lesson and no more, the last half hour being one long haze of exhaustion. Once a rush of sounds filled the air, and the row of little sleepy faces receded into a far distance; but Marjory talked on resolutely, not in the least knowing what she said, and somehow things came back to their normal condition. She said nothing to anybody about herself; only hoped she had not spoken utter nonsense, dismissed her children, collected books, and did various small things which always fell to her share. Then she crept home uncomplainingly through the hot sun, wondering at each step how many more would be possible, and on reaching the Rectory dropped down upon her couch. She had done her utmost for that day.
Hermione had farther to walk, but her light step never faltered. She found her grandfather seemingly better, strolling in the garden with Harvey, and enjoying a long chat. Hermione did not give Mr. Fitzalan's message. She was rather averse to doing so, she could hardly have told why, and she decided that there really was no need.