“That I allow she has been,” said Mary, looking at her brother’s much improved appearance; “but—”
“Moths and candles to wit,” he returned; “but don’t be afraid, I attract no notice, and I think she trusts me about her boys.”
“But what is it to come to?”
“I have thought of that. Understand that it is enough for me to live near her, and be now and then of some little service to her.”
They were interrupted by a note, which Mr. Ogilvie read, and handed to his sister with a smile:—
“DEAR MR. OGILVIE,—Could you and Mary make it convenient to look in this evening? Bobus has horrified his uncle by declining to go up for a scholarship at Eton or Winchester, and I should be very glad to talk it over with you. Also, I shall have to ask you to take little Armine into school after the holidays.
“Yours sincerely,
“C. O. BROWNLOW.”
“What does the boy mean?” asked Mary. “I thought he was the pride of your heart.”
“So he is; but he is ahead of his fellows, and ought to be elsewhere. All measures have been taken for sending him up to stand at one of the public schools, but I thought him very passive about it. He is an odd boy—reserved and self-concentrated—quite beyond his uncle’s comprehension, and likely to become headstrong at a blind exercise of authority.”