“No, I’m not angry. I suppose you feel differently. I hate to see anything suffer.”
“And I to see you suffer, my brother.”
“I? nonsense! I tell you that’s nothing to do with it. There, let it drop. I shall say no more.”
He escaped, unable further to satisfy his brother, and went upstairs, where Buffer had been put to bed comfortably.
“Did you ever know such a nasty trick in your life?” said Jack, as they left the twins to watch the invalid’s slumbers.
“Oh!” said Cherry, turning into his room, “it’s all hopeless and miserable. We shall never come to any good—never!”
“Oh, come, come now, Cherry,” said Jack, for once assuming the office of consoler. “Buffer’ll do well enough; don’t be so despairing.”
Cheriton had much the brighter and serener nature of the two; but he was subject to fits of reaction, when Jack’s cooler temperament held its own.
“It’s not Buffer,” he said, “it’s Alvar! How can one ever have any brotherly feeling for a fellow like that? He’s as different as a Red Indian!”
“It would be very odd and unnatural if you had much brotherly feeling for him,” said Jack. “Why do you trouble yourself about him?”