But after a time, his memories had softened. His home life had been dull and meagre, but the inconvenient, sparsely-furnished old house with its shady garden gradually grew upon him during his hard exile; and all around it was the country in which he had tasted some of the delights which better-endowed youth enjoyed so fully. When he did come back he had money of his own. His mother made no difficulty about accepting a substantial payment from him for his board, which removed the effect of scraping from the Vicarage household arrangements; and he did pretty well as he liked at home, which he had never been allowed to do before. It was pleasant enough to idle there during the months of his convalescence, and to feel that he need not hurry them.
And there was the Hall, which had always provided him with an outlet into the kind of life denied to one of his parentage. If it had been a place of desire to him in his youth, it was a thousand times more so now, for it enshrined Pamela, who threw her sweet radiance upon everything about her.
For one who had lived roughly, as he had, and mostly with men for years past, it was a revelation of quietness and happiness to be taken in upon intimate terms to such a life as was led at the Hall. It was happiness of a sort that he had never imagined for himself. It was not entirely because of Pamela that he hugged himself upon the memory of those hours he had spent in the schoolroom, helping the children with their games, or of other hours in other rooms of the quiet, spacious house and in the summer playground of the garden. Love had softened this young man, not cut out by nature, it would have seemed, to tread the gentler ways of life. Love had transformed for him even the shabby rooms and overshaded surroundings of his own home, since Pamela had enlightened them with her presence. He had thought of himself as staying there only so long as his health required it, and then leaving it again to plunge into the excitements of the career that he had marked out for himself. But still he lingered on, though now he was nearly strong again, and would soon be ready for the fray. He did not suppose that he would have any chance in the pursuit upon which his mind was set until he had something more definite than at present to lay before Pamela's parents; nor did he suppose himself as yet to have made any impression upon Pamela herself in the way he was determined upon. It would be better for him to go away for a time, and to come back every now and then with something done to recommend himself further to her and to her parents. But he could not bring himself to make plans to go away yet.
"Colonel Eldridge has never been consulted on the matter," said Fred, in answer to his mother's speech. "To my mind he has every right to object to the way in which he has been treated."
"It is difficult to get at the rights of the quarrel," said Mrs. Comfrey. "But we all know that Lord Eldridge, as I suppose we can call him now, isn't a quarrelsome man, and I'm sure nobody could call Lady Eldridge a quarrelsome woman."
Mr. Comfrey chipped in before Fred could speak. "I think it's a pity," he said, "to talk about a quarrel at all. There has been an unfortunate misunderstanding which I'm very sure will soon be cleared up."
"There has been a quarrel," Mrs. Comfrey pronounced, "and a pretty serious one. The two brothers are not on speaking terms. It's no good shutting your eyes to facts. I suppose we shall keep out of it as long as we can, but I think we shall have to take sides in it sooner or later, and I must say I'm inclined to take Lord Eldridge's side."
"Oh, my dear," expostulated the Vicar. "Don't talk about taking sides. I'm sure it isn't necessary. We've always been good friends with both families. Do let us remain so, I beg of you."
"I agree with mother," said Fred, at which she brightened visibly, but drooped somewhat when he added: "There's enough to go on, and I'm on the side of the family at the Hall, all the way and all the time."