"Go on," said Charley. "I like to hear the worst."
Edina did go on. "You are the worst, Charles. You seem to think the world was made for you alone. When that poor man came yesterday, a cottager, asking for some favour or assistance, or complaining of some hardship—I did not quite catch the words—you just flung him off as though he were not of the same species of created being as yourself. Have you a bad heart, Charles?"
Charles laughed. "I think I have a very good heart—as hearts go. The man is troublesome. His name's Beck. He has been here three times, and wants I don't know what done to his wretched cottage; says Mrs. Atkinson promised it. My father can't afford to listen to these complaints, Edina: and if he did it for one, he must do it for all. The fact is, Aunt Ann did so much for the wretches that she spoilt them."
"But you might have spoken kindly to the man. Civilly, at any rate."
"Oh, bother!" cried Charley: who was much of a boy still in manner. "Only think of all those years of poverty, Edina: we ought to enjoy ourselves now. Why, we had to look at a shilling before we spent it. And did not often get one to spend."
"But, Charley, you think only of enjoyment. Nothing is thought of at Eagles' Nest but the pleasure and gratification of the present hour, day by day, as the days come round."
"Well, I shall have enough work to do by-and-by, Edina. I go to Oxford after the long vacation."
"And you go without any preparation for it," said Edina.
"Preparation! Why, I am well up in classics," cried Charley, staring at Edina.
"I was not thinking of classics. You have had no experience, Charles; you are like a child in the ways of the world."