“Eh! why not young Ogilvie?” said Dr. May. “I am right, I see. Well, who is the lady?”
“A Miss Dunbar—a nice girl that I met at Glenbracken. Her property fits in with theirs, and I believe his father has been wishing it for a long time.”
“It does not sound too romantic,” said Meta.
“He writes as if he had the sense of having been extremely dutiful,” said Norman.
“No doubt thinking it needful in addressing a namesake, who has had an eye to the main chance,” said the doctor. “Don’t throw stones, young people.”
“Well!” exclaimed Meta; “he did not look as if he would go and do such a stupid thing as that!”
“Probably, it is anything but a stupid thing,” said Dr. May.
“You are using him very ill among you,” said Norman eagerly. “I believe her to be excellent in every way; he has known her from childhood; he writes as if he were perfectly contented, and saw every chance of happiness.”
“None the less for having followed his father’s wishes—I am glad he did,” said Ethel, coming to her brother’s side.
“I dare say you are right,” was Meta’s answer; “but I am disappointed in him. He always promised to come and stay with you, and made such friends at Oxford, and he never came.”