She was beautiful, and moreover had a magnetic attraction, which drew the most sullen under her charm. How much more then Herrick, who frankly acknowledged that she was--what he rather obviously called--an angel.
"Don't follow him Dr. Jim," she said breathlessly. "Believe me, he is better alone. I know his moods."
"Are you talking of Sidney?" asked Herrick in surprise.
"Yes! I thought you followed him," she cast a look across the moor where the slender figure of the boy could just be seen disappearing on the horizon. "How fast he walks. Here, there, and everywhere, like a ghost!"
"I did not follow Sidney," said Herrick gravely, "but I see that I must take the boy in hand. His brain is too excitable."
"You don't think he is mad," said Ida turning pale. "I assure you that he is very shrewd in many ways, and looks after himself thoroughly. But he was always a delicate boy with strange habits."
"He is a poet," said Herrick decisively, "that is why he 'sees things' as he puts it. His imagination and brain power are too strong for his weak body. If he went in for exercise and took pleasure in sport he would soon lose these unhealthy phantasies. They would pass away in verse."
"Do you think he ought to go to a public school?"
"Certainly not. The boy is too peculiar; too rare a spirit. The other boys would not understand him, and he would be as unhappy as Coleridge and Lamb. No! He needs looking after privately. I like Corn, but he does not understand the boy. Let me see to it, Miss Endicotte."
"Indeed," faltered Ida, "I should be very glad. We are all very fond of Sidney; but he is peculiar as you say. And you have done wonders with Stephen. I can see that."