Miss Winter could not see the good of groping in the dirt; and Margaret perceived that it would be one of her difficulties to know how to follow out her mother’s views for the children, without vexing the good governess by not deferring to her.
In the meantime, Norman had disconsolately returned to his Euripides, and Ethel, who wanted to stay with him and look out his words, was ordered out by Miss Winter, because she had spent all yesterday indoors. Miss Winter was going to stay with Margaret, and Ethel and Flora coaxed Norman to come with them, “just one mile on the turnpike road and back again; he would be much fresher for his Greek afterwards.”
He came, but he did not enliven his sisters. The three plodded on, taking a diligent constitutional walk, exchanging very few words, and those chiefly between the girls. Flora gathered some hoary clematis, and red berries, and sought in the hedge-sides for some crimson “fairy baths” to carry home; and, at the sight of the amusement Margaret derived from the placing the beauteous little Pezizas in a saucer of damp green moss, so as to hide the brown sticks on which they grew, Ethel took shame to herself for want of perception of little attentions. When she told Norman so, he answered, “There’s no one who does see what is the right thing. How horrid the room looks! Everything is nohow!” added he, looking round at the ornaments and things on the tables, which had lost their air of comfort and good taste. It was not disorder, and Ethel could not see what he meant. “What’s wrong?” said she.
“Oh, never mind—you can’t do it. Don’t try—you’ll only make it worse. It will never be the same as long as we live.”
“I wish you would not be so unhappy!” said Ethel.
“Never mind,” again said Norman, but he put his arm round her.
“Have you done your Euripides? Can I help you? Will you construe it with me, or shall I look out your words?”
“Thank you, I don’t mind that. It is the verses! I want some sense!” said Norman, running his fingers through his hair till it stood on end. “‘Tis such a horrid subject, Coral Islands! As if there was anything to be said about them.”
“Dear me, Norman, I could say ten thousand things, only I must not tell you what mine are, as yours are not done.”
“No, don’t,” said Norman decidedly.