“See how they propitiate her,” maliciously observed the doctor.
“Not at all; it is Richard standing up for his pupil,” said Ethel. “It is all very well now, with people who know the capacities of mortal tea; but the boys expect it to last from seven o’clock to ten, through an unlimited number of cups, till I have announced that a teapot must be carved on my tombstone, with an epitaph, ‘Died of unreasonable requirements.’”
Mrs. Arnott looked from one to the other, amused, observant, and perceiving that they were all under that form of shyness which brings up family wit to hide embarrassment or emotion.
“Is Harry one of these unreasonable boys?” she asked. “My dear Harry—I presume Ethel has not sent him to bed. Is there any hope of my seeing him?”
“Great hope,” said Dr. May. “He has been in the Baltic fleet, a pretty little summer trip, from which we expect him to return any day. My old Lion! I am glad you had him for a little while, Flora.
“Dear fellow! his only fault was being homesick, and making me catch the infection.”
“I am glad you did not put off your coming,” said Dr. May gravely.
“You are in time for the consecration,” said Richard.
“Ah! Cocksmoor! When will it take place?”
“On St. Andrew’s Day. It is St. Andrew’s Church, and the bishop fixed the day, otherwise it is a disappointment that Hector cannot be present.”