‘I don’t know; I don’t think it was settled,’ said Laura, ‘Why?’
‘I could never fancy him one’ said Guy. ‘He would not have been what he is now if he had gone to Oxford,’ said Charles. ‘He would have lived with men of the same powers and pursuits with himself, and have found his level.’
‘And that would have been a very high one,’ said Guy.
‘It would; but there would be all the difference there is between a feudal prince and an Eastern despot. He would know what it is to live with his match.’
‘But you don’t attempt to call him conceited!’ cried Guy, with a sort of consternation.
‘He is far above that; far too grand,’ said Amy.
‘I should as soon think of calling Jupiter conceited,’ said Charles; and Laura did not know how far to be gratified, or otherwise.
Charles had not over-estimated Philip’s readiness of self adaptation. Charlotte had been very happy with him, talking over the “Lady of the Lake”, which she had just read, and being enlightened, partly to her satisfaction, partly to her disappointment, as to how much was historical. He listened good-naturedly to a fit of rapture, and threw in a few, not too many, discreet words of guidance to the true principles of taste; and next told her about an island, in a pond at Stylehurst, which had been by turns Ellen’s isle and Robinson Crusoe’s. It was at this point in the conversation that Guy came in sight, riding slowly, his reins on his horse’s neck, whistling a slow, melancholy tune, his eyes fixed on the sky, and so lost in musings, that he did not perceive them till Philip arrested him by calling out, ‘That is a very bad plan. No horse is to be trusted in that way, especially such a spirited one.’
Guy started, and gathered up his reins, owning it was foolish.
‘You look only half disenchanted yet,’ said Philip. ‘Has Lascelles put you into what my father’s old gardener used to call a stud?’