Norah pursed up her lips. She could imagine that a conflict of wills between the old Squire and his son would be no trifling matter. In imagination, she saw them standing facing each other, the father ruddy, bristling, energetic, Rex straight and tall, his lips set, his eyes gleaming. They were too like each other in disposition for either to find it easy to give way.
“Boys are a great trial,” she said, sighing profoundly. “We have two, you know—Raymond and Bob. They have gone back to school now, and the house is so peaceful. I am glad I wasn’t born a boy. They never seem happy unless there is a disturbance going on. But both Rex and your father seem so fond of you. Can’t you coax them round?”
“Oh, I daren’t!” Edna looked quite alarmed. “Mother and I never interfere; we leave them to fight it out between themselves. But if they go on fighting for the next three years it won’t be very lively, I must say!”
Edna would have been as much surprised as delighted if she had known that the conflict which had so long destroyed the peace of the household was at an end, even as she spoke. No one could fail to notice that the Squire was in an unusually radiant frame of mind at luncheon, or that he addressed his son with marked favour; but it was not until the drive home was nearly over, and the gates of Cloudsdale in view, that Rex enlightened his companion’s curiosity on the point. He cleared his throat once or twice in a curious, embarrassed manner, before he began to speak.
“Er—Norah—I’ve something to tell you. When we were shut up in that hole last night, I was thinking too. The governor has been very good to me, and it seems ungrateful to stand out about college, when he is so keen on it. It is only for three years. I—er—I told him this morning that I would do my best till I was twenty-one, if he would promise to let me have a free choice after that.”
“Oh, Rex, did you? I am so glad. I am sure you will never regret it. You will always be glad that you did what your father wished, even if it is hard at the time. I think you are very, very good and kind, and unselfish.”
“All right! You needn’t gush. I hate girls who gush,” said Rex curtly; and Norah understood that she was to say no more on the subject, and collapsed into obedient silence.
It seemed a day of good resolutions, for Norah could not but notice that Hilary looked ill and was obviously in low spirits. Her greeting had been more affectionate than usual; nevertheless, the remembrance of the quarrel of a few days earlier still rankled in Norah’s mind, and the resolutions of yesterday were too fresh to allow her to be satisfied without a definite reconciliation. The first time they were alone together, she burst into impetuous apologies. “Oh, Hilary, I wanted to say that I’m sorry I was cross on Monday. I don’t mind a bit about the drawing-room; alter it in any way you like. Of course you know better how things should be, after staying in London. I’m sorry I was rude, but I did dust it, really!”
To her surprise, the tears rose in Hilary’s eyes, and she looked absolutely distressed. “Oh, Norah, don’t! I’m sorry too. I didn’t think I had grumbled so much. But Miss Carr’s house is so beautiful, and when I came home—”
“I know. But it looks ever so much nicer in summer, when the doors are open and the flowers are in bloom. If you like to move the piano, and make it stand out from the walls, I’ll give you my yellow silk for the drapery. Aunt Amy sent it to me for a dress, but I’ve never used it.”