“Hector?”
“Hector Ernescliffe—poor Alan’s brother, whom we don’t well know from ourselves.”
“And you are curate, Ritchie?” said his aunt—“if I may still call you so. You are not a bit altered from the mouse you used to be.”
“Church mouse to Cocksmoor,” said Dr. May, “nearly as poor. We are to invest his patrimony in a parsonage as soon as our architect in ordinary can find time for it. Spencer—you remember him?”
“I remember how you and he used to be inseparable! And he has settled down, at last, by your side?”
“The two old doctors hope to bolster each other up till Mr. Tom comes down with modern science in full force. That boy will do great things—he has as clear a head as I ever knew.”
“And more—” said Ethel.
“Ay, as sound a heart. I must find you his tutor’s letter, Flora. They have had a row in his tutor’s house at Eton, and our boys made a gallant stand for the right, Tom especially, guarding the little fellows in a way that does one good to hear of.”
“‘I must express my strong sense of gratitude for his truth, uprightness, and moral courage,’” quoted Meta.
“Ah, ha! you have learned it by heart! I know you copied it out for Norman, who has the best right to rejoice.”