“I don’t know that, my dear—I don’t know that,” put in Mr Dalrymple. “Laurence knows what he is about. At one time perhaps I might have agreed with you—we were inclined to think him high-flown and unpractical, he and those young Thurstons—but we’ve come to change our opinion. Laurence’s lectures have been most successful, and he certainly makes good use of his talents.”
“Are they always on literary subjects?” inquired Roma, languidly.
“No; he varies them,” was the reply. “He gave a set on heat—or light, was it? He is really a wonderful man—seems at home on every subject. How he finds time to get together all his knowledge is what puzzles me!”
“Then, has he any regular occupation or profession?” asked Captain Chancellor.
“Oh dear, yes,” answered his hostess. “He is in business—just like Henry and every one else here. He is an unusually talented man. Every one says he should have been in one of the learned professions, but he doesn’t seem to think so. Whatever he had been, he could not have worked harder. Eugenia tells me he very often sits up till daylight, reading and writing. He makes the girls work too. They copy out his lectures, and look up references and all sorts of things. He has educated them almost like boys. It’s a wonder it hasn’t spoilt them. Yet they are simple, unaffected, nice girls. It is only a pity he shuts them up so.”
“They will soon make up for lost time in that direction. Miss Eugenia, at least, seems to take very kindly to a little amusement when she gets a chance. Quite right too—don’t you think so, Chancellor? She is very pretty, isn’t she?” said good Mr Dalrymple.
Beauchamp felt uncertain if his host had any covert meaning in these questions. He felt a little annoyed, and inclined to ignore them; but a very slight smile, which crept over Roma’s face, changed his intention.
“Pretty?” he repeated. “Yes, indeed she is; and her dancing is perfection.”
The Dalrymples looked pleased; and when Roma soon after got up, saying she felt sleepy, and it must be getting late, Captain Chancellor hoped his last observation had to do with her sudden discovery of fatigue.
He saw her off next morning, as Mrs Dalrymple had proposed. They parted very amicably, for Miss Eyrecourt did not recur to the subject of her warning. The fog had cleared away, and Captain Chancellor felt in very good spirits. Ugly as Wareborough was, he began to think he could manage to exist there pretty comfortably for a few months.