‘Ah!’ said Mr. Hailes, shaking his head as they went, ‘the rabbits ought not to be so near, but there has been sad neglect since poor Mr. Morton’s death.’
It was much easier to get on in a tête-à-tête, and before long Mr. Hailes had heard some of the perplexities about Herbert, the foremost of which was how to make him presentable for ladies’ society in the evening. If Miss Morton’s presence had been anticipated, either his uncle would not have brought him, or would have fitted him out beforehand, for though he looked fit for the fields and woods in male company, evening costume had not yet dawned on his imagination. Mr. Hailes recommended sending him in the morning to the town at Colbeam, under charge of the butler, Prowse—who would rather enjoy the commission, and was quite capable of keeping up any needed authority. For the future training, the more important matter on which he was next consulted, Mr. Hailes mentioned the name of a private tutor, who was likely to be able to deal with the boy better under present circumstances than a public school could do—since at Herbert’s age, his ignorance of the classics on the one hand, and of gentlemanly habits on the other, would tell too much against him.
‘But,’ said Mr. Hailes, ‘Miss Morton will be a very good adviser to you on that head.’
‘She is very good-natured to him,’ said Frank.
‘No one living has a better heart than Miss Morton,’ said Mr. Hailes heartily; ‘a little eccentric, owing to—to circumstances. She has had her troubles, poor dear; but she has as good a heart as ever was, as you will find, my Lord, in all arrangements with her.’
Nevertheless, Lord Northmoor’s feelings towards her might be startled the next morning, when he descended to the dining-room. A screen cut off the door, and as he was coming round it, followed by his nephew, Bertha’s clear voice was heard saying, ‘Yes, he is inoffensive, but he is a stick. There’s no denying it, Mr. Hailes, he is a dreadful stick.’
Frank was too far advanced to retire, before the meaning dawned on him, partly through a little explosion of Herbert behind him, and partly from the guilty consternation and colour with which the other two turned round from the erection of plants among which they were standing.
Yet it was the shy man who spoke first in the predicament, like a timid creature driven to bay.
‘Yes, Miss Morton, I know it is too true; no one is more sensible of it than myself. I can only hope to do my best, such as it is.’
‘Oh, Northmoor, it was very horrid and unguarded in me, and I can only be sorry and beg your pardon,’ and while she laughed and held out her hand, there was a dew in her eyes.