“I am rejoiced that you feel so kindly toward one another,” I replied. “You are getting to be brothers indeed.”
“And then will come weeks and weeks of study,” he went on in a musing tone. “I like it. Books seem to me—well, better than some people. Only—if you could all come down in the winter. Stephen and Mrs. Whitcomb were planning for it, but there! it was a secret and I have betrayed it.”
“I can keep secrets;” and I smiled up into his remorseful face.
“Yes; I have proved that. Rose”—after a pause—“I have half a mind to tell you another, to ask some—advice; at least, I would like to know how it appears to you.”
“Will it be of any real avail?” I asked, noting the perplexed lines on his countenance. “I am not as wise as you think. Because I just happened to stumble into one matter without making a mess of it—”
“This is only an idea. I cannot ask Stephen. I think it would please him and he might judge wrongfully.”
“If I can help you;” I replied encouragingly.
“It is about the future. It may never come to anything to be sure, and perhaps I never can be good enough. Stuart will go into business. He does not love study and he needs an active life. He wanted Stephen to put him in a store this Autumn. But I—”
I knew then what he meant. Somehow I could not help laying my hand on his arm with a touch of confidence.
“Whether I ever could so govern my temper and my impatient desires;” bowing his head humbly. “But if I had some guard about me, if I felt that I must try continually—would it be wrong to think of it?”