“Answer me this question. Why did you follow me to the school?”
“To have a chat with you. It was precious dull at home.”
“Very. It must be,” said the old clergyman, ironically. “You have been away from home two years, and after a few days’ return, its calm and peaceful life is found dull.”
“Well, so it is; plaguy dull.”
“Your mother has been confined to her couch ever since Cynthia was born, Cyril. I have never yet heard her complain of home being dull, or repine at her lot.”
“Ah, well, I know all that! Poor mamma!” exclaimed the young man.
“And you make that pitiful excuse to me, Cyril,” cried his father: “you stoop to deceit already.”
“Who does?” cried the young man fiercely.
“You do, sir, and I tell you this shall not be. Sage Portlock is a pure, sweet-minded girl, in whom both your sisters and I take the greatest interest; and I tell you that, if not engaged, there is already a very great intimacy existing between her and Luke Ross.”
“Phew!” whistled Cyril. “What, that young prig of a fellow! I say, father, he’s turning schoolmaster, isn’t he?”