Augustus spent much of the intervening time in discussing the matter with his aunt. But not a word on the subject was spoken by him to Mountjoy, whom he met at dinner, and with whom he spent the evening in company with Mr. Merton. The two hours after dinner were melancholy enough. The three adjourned to the smoking-room, and sat there almost without conversation. A few words were said about the hunting, but Mountjoy had not hunted this winter. There were a few also of greater interest about the shooting. The shooting was of course still the property of the old man, and in the early months had, without many words spoken, become, as it were, an appanage of the condition of life to which Augustus aspired; but of late Mountjoy had assumed the command. "You found plenty of pheasants here, I suppose," Augustus remarked.
"Well, yes; not too many. I didn't trouble myself much about it. When I saw a pheasant I shot it. I've been a little troubled in spirit, you know."
"Gambling again, I heard."
"That didn't trouble me much. Merton can tell you that we've had a sick-house."
"Yes, indeed," said Merton. "It hasn't seemed to be a time in which a man would think very much of his pheasants."
"I don't know why," said Augustus, who was determined not to put up with the rebuke implied in the doctor's words. After that there was nothing more said between them till they all went to their separate apartments. "Don't contradict him," his aunt said to him the next morning, "and if he reprimands you, acknowledge that you have been wrong."
"That's hard, when I haven't been wrong."
"But so much depends upon it; and he is so stern. Of course, I wish well for both of you. There is plenty enough,—plenty; if only you could agree together."
"But the injustice of his treatment. Is it true that he now declares Mountjoy to be the eldest son?"
"I believe so. I do not know, but I believe it."