Norman had turned away with the simple answer, “any day.”
“Norman is wiser than you are, Ethel,” said Flora. “He knows that Stoneborough would be up in arms at any neglect from us to one of the Andersons, and, considering the rivalship, it is the more graceful, and becoming.”
“I do not think it right,” said Ethel stoutly; “I believe that a line ought to be drawn, and that we ought not to associate with people who openly tamper with their faith.”
“Never fear,” smiled Flora; “I promise you that there shall be no debates at my table.”
Ethel felt the force of the pronoun, and, as Flora walked out of the room, she went up to Norman, who had been resting his brow against the window.
“It is vain to argue with her,” she said; “but, Norman, do not you think it is clearly wrong to seek after men who desert and deny—”
She stopped short, frightened at his pale look.
He spoke in a low clear tone that seemed to thrill her with a sort of alarm. “If the secrets of men’s hearts were probed, who could cast the first stone?”
“I don’t want to cast stones,” she began; but he made a gesture as if he would not hear, and, at the same moment, Mr. Ogilvie entered the room.
Had Ethel been at home, she would have pondered much over her brother’s meaning—here she had no leisure. Not only was she fully occupied with the new scenes around her, but her Scottish cousin took up every moment open to conversation. He was older than Norman, and had just taken his degree, and he talked with that superior aplomb, which a few years bestow at their time of life, without conceit, but more hopeful and ambitious, and with higher spirits than his cousin.