“Why, then I found I must be a much cleverer fellow than I thought for!” said he, laughing; “but I was ashamed of myself, and of the authorities, for choosing such an idle dog, and vexed that other plodding lads missed it, who deserved it more than I.”
“Of course,” said Norman, in a low voice, “that is what one always feels. I had rather blow soap-bubbles!”
“Where was Dr. Spencer?” asked Ethel.
“Not competing. He had been ready a year before, and had gained it, or I should have had no chance. Poor Spencer! what would I not give to see him, or hear of him?”
“The last was—how long ago?” said Ethel.
“Six years, when he was setting off, to return from Poonshedagore,” said Dr. May, sighing. “I gave him up; his health was broken, and there was no one to look after him. He was the sort of man to have a nameless grave, and a name too blessed for fame.”
Ethel would have asked further of her father’s dear old friend, but there were sounds, denoting an arrival, and Margaret beckoned to them as Miss Rivers and her brother were ushered into the drawing-room; and Blanche instantly fled away, with her basin, to hide herself in the schoolroom.
Meta skipped out, and soon was established on the grass, an attraction to all the live creatures, as it seemed; for the kitten came, and was caressed till her own graceful Nipen was ready to fight with the uncouth Toby for the possession of a resting-place on the skirt of her habit, while Daisy nestled up to her, as claiming a privilege, and Aubrey kept guard over the dogs.
Meta inquired after a huge doll—Dr. Hoxton’s gift to Daisy, at the bazaar.
“She is in Margaret’s wardrobe,” was the answer, “because Aubrey tied her hands behind her, and was going to offer her up on the nursery grate.”