“Papa!” said Ethel, in vexation, though he gave her a pinch to show it was all in good humour, while he went on, “I am glad to hear they do leave him to himself in a corner. A very good thing too! Where else should a great gawky schoolboy be?”
“Safe at home, where I wish he would let me be,” muttered Norman, though he contrived to smile, and followed Flora out of the room, without subjecting himself to the imputation of offended dignity.
Ethel was displeased, and began her defence: “Papa, I wish—” and there she checked herself.
“Eh! Miss Ethel’s bristles up!” said her father, who seemed in a somewhat mischievous mood of teasing.
“How could you, papa?” cried she.
“How could I what, Miss Etheldred?”
“Plague Norman,”—the words would come. “Accuse him of airs.”
“I hate to see young fellows above taking an honour from their elders,” said Dr. May.
“Now, papa, papa, you know it is no such thing. Dr. Hoxton’s parties are very dull—you know they are, and it is not fair on Norman. If he was set up and delighted at going so often, then you would call him conceited.”
“Conceit has a good many lurking-places,” said Dr. May. “It is harder to go and be overlooked, than to stay at home.”