Two months passed away.
“There, Helen,” said the doctor one morning; “what do you say to him now? Wonderfully improved, has he not? Good natural boy’s colour in his cheeks—better blood, you see, and nice curly hair. Really he is not like the same.”
“No, papa; he is greatly changed,” said Helen, as she followed the direction of her father’s eyes to where Dexter was out on the lawn watching old Dan’l, while old Dan’l, in a furtive manner, was diligently watching him in return.
“Greatly changed,” said the doctor thoughtfully, as he scratched the side of his nose with his penholder, “in personal appearance. Sir James seems very sore still about that little affair. Says I ought to have thrashed Dexter, for he behaved brutally to young Edgar.”
“And what did you say, papa?”
“Well, not exactly all I thought. Dreadful young limb that Edgar. Spoiled boy, but I could not tell Danby so with such a catalogue of offences as Master Dexter has to show on my black list. You see, Helen, we do not get any further with him.”
Helen shook her head sadly.
“There’s something wrong in his brain; or something wanting. He’ll promise amendment one hour, and go and commit the same fault the very next.”
“It is very sad,” replied Helen thoughtfully; “but I’m sure he means well.”
“Yes, my dear; of course,” said the doctor, looking perplexed; “but it’s a great drawback to one’s success. But there: we must persevere. It seems to me that the first thing to do is to wean him from that terrible love of low companions.”