“There is no danger I believe: Mr Rowland will be firm on that head.”
“And there is no danger, I should think,” said Margaret, “but that the Greys would find us something better the next day. Oh, I do not know where or how; but it would be such a splendid opportunity for patronage, that they would work miracles rather than let it slip. How far this ivy has trailed over the wall already! I should be sorry to leave this garden now that it promises to look like itself so soon again. Sydney despises me for my admiration of it at present. He looks melancholy about the blight. It is a pity certainly. Look at this rose-bush, how curled and withered it is!”
“Sydney is doing like every one else in looking grave about the blight,” observed Hope. “So bad a season has not been known since I came to Deerbrook. I see care in the face of many an one who does not stand anything like our chance of want. Here comes Sydney, with news of every ill-looking field for five miles round, I doubt not.”
“And Mr and Mrs Grey, and Sophia,” said Hester, quitting her husband’s arm, and hastening to meet her friends.
The Greys pronounced it so pleasant an evening, that they had no wish to sit down within doors; they preferred walking in the garden. They seemed to come for two purposes—to offer an invitation, and to relate that Mr Walcot was gone to dine at Sir William Hunter’s to-day, and that Sir William had sent the carriage for him. Mr Walcot had not been ready for full five minutes after the carriage had driven up to the door. This delay was no doubt intended to give all Deerbrook time to observe the peculiar consideration with which Mr Walcot was treated by Sir William and Lady Hunter, who were by no means in the habit of sending their carriage for their Deerbrook guests.
“Did you ever hear of such a thing,” said Sophia, “as sending a carriage for a young man? I have no doubt it is because he cannot ride.”
“There you are out, Sophy,” cried Sydney. “Mr Walcot rides as well as Mr Hope, every bit.”
“I cannot think what has happened to Sydney,” observed his mother. “He does nothing but stand up for Mr Walcot in the most unaccountable way! I hope you will forgive it, Mr Hope. Boys take strange fancies, you know. You must forgive it, my dears, in consideration of the rest of us.”
“Instead of forgiving it,” said Hope, “I shall take leave rather to admire it. There is a fine chivalrous spirit shown in fighting Mr Walcot’s battles with our friends and relations.”
“There, now!” cried Sydney, triumphantly. “But I can’t help it, you see. Mr Walcot can ride, and he does ride well; and he is very civil to me, and asks me to go fishing with him; and I am sure he always inquires very respectfully after the rest of them. I never said any more than that in praise of him; and I can’t say less, can I, when they are all abusing him for whatever he does?”