“I don’t know, indeed,” she replied, pouting. “Papa has brought mamma to see a fresh physician, but is so cross and strange now. He has been reforming the parish, as he calls it.”
“Yes; so I heard,” said Lord Artingale, laughing.
“And that has meant quarrelling with all the stupid townspeople, and setting them against us.”
“Not against you, Cynthia,” said the young man in a low voice. “I don’t believe that.”
“Don’t talk nonsense, Harry,” she replied, laughing; “not now. But really it is very unpleasant, you know, for it makes papa so cross.”
“Of course it would,” said Lord Artingale, sympathisingly.
“And he talks about being so poor, and says that we shall all be ruined, and makes poor mamma miserable.”
“But he is not in want of money, is he?” cried the young man, eagerly.
“Nonsense! No: that’s how he always talks when Frank and Cyril are at home. Oh, Harry, I’m afraid they are dreadful boys.”
“Well, let’s try and make them better, eh, Cynthia?”