But Mr Mannering was evidently annoyed with himself.
“I am growing old, that is the truth,” he said despondingly.
“Old?—pooh! Go and look in the glass, Charles, before you talk of getting old to a man that is but three years your junior. Old?—why, there isn’t a Mannering that comes to his prime before seventy. I expect to grow younger every day, and to have a game of leap-frog with you before many years are past;—do you recollect the leap-frog in the play-ground of the Grammar school?—why, it seems but yesterday that great lout of a fellow, Hunt, went flying over my head, and struck out with his hob-nailed shoes, and caught me just across the knuckles. I can feel the sting yet. There, glance over this, and see if it will do for Thompson. I wonder where old Hunt is now.”
“I met him in the city the other day with a grandson on either side.”
“I dare say. He was always too much of a blundering blockhead to understand that the way to grow old is to have a tribe of children treading on your heels. You and I know better. Here we live, as snug a pair of cronies as is to be met with for twenty miles round, without any such sharp contrasts disturbing our equanimity.”
In answer to his brother’s cheery words, and the hand which grasped his as they were spoken, Mr Mannering shook his head a little sadly.
“Things might have been different—for you, Robert, especially. Do you think I have forgotten Margaret Hare?”
“Why should you forget, or I either? Things might have been different, as you say, but it does not follow they would have been better. Look here, Charles; we have not spoken much of Margaret Hare of late years. I don’t forget her, though I am an old blustering fellow, I don’t forget her, but I can look back and say God bless her, and thank him, too, that things are as they are. I don’t want any change, and I have never repented.”
“It does my heart good to hear you say that, Robert.”
“Well, there, it’s said and done with. Are you going to Underham to-day?”