His spirits rose.
“You haven’t told me what you think I’d better do.”
“Where’s the use, when you’ll do the contrary? My endeavour will be to introduce a little common sense on your side, and a little romance on hers. Be thankful for one thing.”
“What?”
“That she’s not a market-gardener. Market-gardening excludes romance. I defy you to make any running over a lot of cabbages. Now, trees, dewy lawns, grass rides—upon my word, they should have possibilities. Don’t get cross. I’m quite serious.” Something interrupted, but before dinner was ended, Harry, who had apparently been storing observations, said in a low voice—
“I say, do you expect me to look on and see Fenwick make all the running?”
There was another momentary hesitation on Miss Arbuthnot’s part before she said with a groan—
“Oh, the density of the male mind! Won’t you understand that all Miss Hamilton’s aspirations are bound up in that pocket-book to which I see her refer when she has got rid of you all? On the day the pocket-book disappears, I shall hope for you. Meanwhile, minister to her career; that is the best you can do, and all you can do. And it is so funny, that you ought to be extremely obliged to me for treating it seriously.”
He looked at her and laughed, and showed his trust in her discernment by avoiding Claudia for some days almost too pointedly. He rode away each morning and did not come back for hours, buried himself in the study with his father, or took Fenwick off to the next town. Mrs Hilton became uneasy for the amusement of her guests, and it was in vain that her son assured her they preferred being left to their own devices. Helen was tired after a London rush.
“I am not talking about Helen,” she said almost fretfully. “She is very well able to look after herself. And Ruth can make herself at home anywhere. But there is little Miss Hamilton.”