A silence of near two minutes succeeded, during which time I affected to be gazing at the distant sloops, and then I ventured to steal a glance at my companions. I found Grace's mild eyes earnestly riveted on my face; and, turning from their anxious expression with a little uneasiness, I encountered those of Lucy looking at me as intently as if she doubted whether her ears had not deceived her.
“A sailor, Miles!”—my sister now slowly repeated—“I thought it settled you were to study law.”
“As far from that as we are from England; I've fully made up my mind to see the world if I can, and Rupert, here—”
“What of Rupert, here?” Grace asked, a sudden change again coming over her sweet countenance, though I was altogether too inexperienced to understand its meaning. “He is certainly to be a clergyman—his dear father's assistant, and, a long, long, very long time hence, his successor!”
I could see that Rupert was whistling on a low key, and affecting to look cool; but my sister's solemn, earnest, astonished manner had more effect on us both, I believe, than either would have been willing to own.
“Come, girls,” I said at length, putting the best face on the matter, “there is no use in keeping secrets from you—but remember that what I am about to tell you is a secret, and on no account is to be betrayed.”
“To no one but Mr. Hardinge,” answered Grace. “If you intend to be a sailor, he ought to know it.”
“That comes from looking at our duties superficially,” I had caught this phrase from my friend, “and not distinguishing properly between their shadows and their substance.”
“Duties superficially! I do not understand you, Miles. Certainly Mr. Hardinge ought to be told what profession you mean to follow. Remember, brother, he now fills the place of a parent to you.”
“He is not more my parent than Rupert's—I fancy you will admit that much!”