“Just exactly and precisely what it says!”
“It doesn’t sound at all flattering or nice.”
“Probably not. It wasn’t intended to be.”
“Mr Elgood, how can you! What can you have to say about Ron that isn’t to his credit? I thought you liked him! I thought you admired him! You must see—you must—that he is different from other boys of his age. So much more clever, and thoughtful, and appreciative!”
“That’s where the pity comes in! It’s pitiful to see a lad like that mooning away his time, when he ought to be busy at football or cricket, or playing tricks on his betters. What business has he to appreciate Nature? Tell me that! At twenty—is it, or only nineteen?—he ought to be too much engrossed in exercising his muscles, and letting off steam generally, to bother his head about effects of sun and mist. Sun and mist, indeed! A good wholesome ordinary English lad doesn’t care a toss about sun or mist, except as they help or hinder his enjoyment of sport!”
“Ronald is not an ‘ordinary English boy’!”
“Hoity-toity! Now she’s offended!” The Chieftain looked at his companion’s flushed cheeks with twinkling eyes, not one whit daunted by her airs of dignified displeasure. “Don’t want me to say what isn’t true, do you? He’s a nice lad—a very nice lad, and a clever one into the bargain, though by no means the paragon you think him. That’s why I’m sorry to see him frittering away his youth, instead of making hay while the sun shines. He’ll be old soon enough. Wake up some fine morning to find himself with a bald head and stiff joints. Then he’ll be sorry! Wouldn’t bother my head about him if I didn’t like the lad. Have a peppermint? It will soothe your feelings.”
The parcel of round black bull’s eyes was held towards Margot in ingratiating fashion. It was impossible to refuse, impossible to cherish angry feelings, impossible to do anything but laugh and be happy in the presence of this kindest and most cheery of men. Margot took the peppermint, and sucked it with frank enjoyment the while she sat by the tarn reading her letters. Having received nothing from home for several days, the same post had now brought letters from her father, Edith, and Agnes, to say nothing of illustrated missives from the two small nephews. Mr Vane’s note was short, and more an echo of her own last letter than a record of his own doings.
“Glad to know that you like your surroundings—pleased to hear that the weather keeps fine—hope you will enjoy your excursion,” etcetera, etcetera.
Just at the end came a few sentences which to the reader’s quick wits were full of hidden meaning.