“Clever sort of lad!” said Dr. Spencer, “a cool hand, but very shallow—”
Ethel wondered to hear thus lightly disposed of, the powers of argument that had been thought fairly able to compete with Norman, and which had taxed him so severely. She did not know how differently abstract questions appear to a mature mind, confirmed in principle by practice; and to one young, struggling in self-formation, and more used to theories than to realities.
CHAPTER XII.
The heart may ache, but may not burst;
Heaven will not leave thee, nor forsake.
Christian Year.
Hector and Tom finished their holidays by a morning’s shooting at the Grange, Dr. May promising to meet them, and let them drive him home.
Meta was out when he arrived; and, repairing to the library, he found Mr. Rivers sitting by a fire, though it was early in September, with the newspaper before him, but not reading. He looked depressed, and seemed much disappointed at having heard that George and Flora had accepted some further invitations in Scotland, and did not intend to return for another month. Dr. May spoke cheerfully of the hospitality and kindness they had met, but failed to enliven him, and, as if trying to assign some cause for his vexation, he lamented over fogs and frosts, and began to dread an October in Scotland for Flora, almost as if it were the Arctic regions.
He grew somewhat more animated in praising Flora, and speaking of the great satisfaction he had in seeing his son married to so admirable a person. He only wished it could be the same with his daughter.
“You are a very unselfish father,” said Dr. May. “I cannot imagine you without your little fairy.”
“It would be hard to part,” said Mr. Rivers, sighing; “yet I should be relieved to see her in good hands, so pretty and engaging as she is, and something of an heiress. With our dear Flora, she is secure of a happy home when I am gone, but still I should be glad to have seen—” and he broke off thoughtfully.