“Mother,” he said, “it’s only when I’m behind with my lessons, and I think that I’ll wake early and give them a look over in the morning. It isn’t like reading for my own pleasure.”
Another laugh greeted this remark, Ted “reading for his own pleasure” would have been something new.
“But indeed, mother, you needn’t worry about it,” said Arthur consolingly. “I advise you to let Ted’s candle and matches remain peaceably at the side of his bed if it pleases him. There they will stay, none the worse, you may be sure. It satisfies his conscience and does no harm, for there is not the least fear of his ever waking early.”
Ted looked annoyed. It is not easy to take chaff pleasantly in public, especially in the public of one’s own assembled family.
“I don’t see why you need all set on me like that,” he muttered. “I think Noble might have held his tongue.”
“So do I,” said Charlotte, half under her breath. Then she too got up. “I’m going to bed. Good night, mamma,” and she stooped to kiss her mother; and in a few minutes, Noble having shut up his book resolutely at the end of the chapter, all the brothers had left the room, and the husband and wife were alone.
Mrs Waldron leant her pretty head on the arm of the sofa for a minute or two without speaking. She was tired, as she well might be, and somehow on Saturday night she felt as if she might allow herself to own to it. Mr Waldron looked at her with a rather melancholy expression on his own face.
“Yes,” he said aloud, though in reality speaking to himself, “we pay pretty dear for our power of sympathising.”
“What did you say?” asked his wife, looking up.
“Nothing, dear. I was only thinking of some talk I had with Charlotte—I was trying to show her the advantages of poverty,” he said, smiling.