“I remember it, perfectly. You used to be desired to keep Jem and me from walking on the grass; and you obeyed implicitly!”
“You may walk on the grass now, if you like,” said Hugh.
“It was a nice old garden. And, I declare, Hugh, there are the cats!”
“Cats? I haven’t got a cat.”
“The velvet cats on the mantelpiece—the first works of art I ever appreciated.”
And he pointed out two cats cut out in black velvet, and painted into tortoiseshell, with fierce eyes and long whiskers, objects of delight to the infant mind of any generation.
“I declare I never noticed them. You had better find out some more old friends, while I go over to Redhurst.”
The experiment proved very successful on both sides. It gave Arthur the rest he needed; the absence of association without the strain of novelty. His cheerfulness revived; and, perhaps, Hugh had rarely found life more pleasant: for, though he was tenderly desirous of making his cousin comfortable, of saving him fatigue, and amusing without oppressing him, it was really Arthur who twisted the things about till the room looked homelike and cheerful; found out how cool and shady the garden was, and how pretty a few changes might make it, and started agreeable subjects of conversation. Though not so amusing and argumentative as Jem, he was a wonderfully pleasant person to live with, even when languid and only half himself; and Hugh, delighted to find that the companionship suited Arthur, grew quite lively himself under its influence. They saw James whenever he came to Oxley, and frequently Mrs Crichton; and Hugh dutifully went over, at short intervals, to Redhurst, and, though he avoided without regret many summer gaieties, was obliged to share in a few, and, among others, went to a large musical party given by Mrs Dysart.
There had been some croquet and archery in the afternoon; but Hugh did not make his appearance till just as the music was going to begin.
“How late you are, Hugh!” said his mother, as he came up and joined her. “And no Arthur?”