“Blanche’s—”
“Hurrah for Blanche! Well done, white Mayflower, there!” said the doctor, “that is what I meant. See the applause gained by a proud bubble that flies! Don’t we all bow down to it, and waft it up with the whole force of our lungs, air as it is; and when it fairly goes out of sight, is there any exhilaration or applause that surpasses ours?”
“The whole world being bent on making painted bubbles fly over the house,” said Norman, far more thoughtfully than his father. “It is a fair pattern of life and fame.”
“I was thinking,” continued Dr. May, “what was the most unalloyed exultation I remember.”
“Harry’s, when you were made dux,” whispered Ethel to her brother.
“Not mine,” said Norman briefly.
“I believe,” said Dr. May, “I never knew such glorification as when Aubrey Spencer climbed the poor old market-cross. We all felt ourselves made illustrious for ever in his person.”
“Nay, papa, when you got that gold medal must have been the grandest time?” said Blanche, who had been listening.
Dr. May laughed, and patted her. “I, Blanche? Why, I was excessively amazed, that is all, not in Norman’s way, but I had been doing next to nothing to the very last, then fell into an agony, and worked like a horse, thinking myself sure of failure, and that my mother and my uncle would break their hearts.”
“But when you heard that you had it?” persisted Blanche.