"He always was talking about how mighty han'some you was, and what beautiful eyes you had," declared a third, and so it went, and credulous Mrs. Rush laid the flattering unction to her soul that she was the one woman in the world for Duncan Lisle.
"It is only for looks' sake; he wanted to come bad enough, you may bet on that," said Dinah to her mistress, when informed that she had got up her great dinner for nobody but little Master Hubert.
As to Hubert, after he was through with his good dinner, he had anything but a pleasant visit. Thornton Rush—his name was Jude Thornton Rush—was a few months older than Hubert, He possessed the beauty of his mother, with the dark, hidden nature of his father. He was stubborn, morose, and quarrelsome. He abounded in bad qualities, but if there was one which excelled another, it was cunning and duplicity. These were so combined as really to form but one. Had he been a man and termed Jesuitical, in the Protestant sense, that term would have aptly described him. Now Hubert was not perfect more than other children, but, compared to Thornton Rush, he was a little saint. His organ of combativeness frequently waged stern conflicts with his bump of reverence. His sense of right was keen as his sensitiveness against wrong and falsehood. He was, like his mother, frank and open as the day, generous, disinterested, and unselfish.
What should happen, then, when these two natures came together? What but thunder and lightning, as when two clouds meet?
Duncan Lisle thought about this as he saw his boy borne away from him, and he resolved to go over for him very soon after dinner. He arrived just in time to rescue him, bruised and bleeding, from the fists and fury of Thornton Rush. The quarrel had commenced in this way: Thornton had asserted that everything at Thornton Hall was his; Hubert had nothing. Hubert admitted as much, insisting, however, that all at Kennons was his.
"No such thing," denied Thornton. "Everything at Kennons is your father's; you have nothing."
"Well," said the other, "so everything at Thornton Hall is your mother's, and not yours."
"No such thing. I am the master of Thornton Hall. My father is dead, sir."
"Yes, I know that."
"You know that! And is that all you can say? Say that I am master of Thornton Hall, and that you are nobody but Hubert Lisle," said Thornton, intent upon a quarrel.