“He need not be an enemy, he is only a lawyer,” Ally said, always ready to see things in the most charitable light.
“And what is a lawyer but an enemy? Did you ever hear of a lawyer coming into the midst of a family like this but it was for harm? It was very funny, though, when you bolted in. Wat and I were making conversation; when you suddenly came like a thunder-bolt with your ‘dreadful person.’”
In the absence of the injured, Ally herself did not refuse to laugh in a small way. “He does not look dreadful at all,” she said; “he looks rather—nice, as if he would have some feeling for us.”
“I don’t think his feeling for us could be of much consequence. We are not fallen so low as that, that we should need to care for an attorney’s feeling,” said Anne. But then her attention was distracted by the fine horse with its shining coat, the dog-cart all gleaming with care and varnish, notwithstanding the traces of the muddy roads. “He must be well off,” she said, “at least,” with a little sigh.
“He is in the law,” said Ally; “that doesn’t mean the same thing as an attorney. An attorney is the lower kind; and I’m sure it may matter a great deal that he should have feeling. Think of poor Wat’s interest. It is Wat that is to be considered; even mother, who is so strong on the other side, and thinks it would be so much better for the rest of us, is sorry for Wat.”
“Hush! he is coming back,” Anne said. There was something strangely familiar in the return of the visitor through the open door without any formalities, as if he were some one staying in the house.
“It is very fortunate that the weather is so fine,” he said, coming back. “The situation is delightful for the summer, but you must find it unpleasant when the floods are out.”
“It is never unpleasant,” said Anne; “for it is our home. We like it better than any other situation. Penton is much grander, but we like this best.”
“We need not make any comparison,” said Ally. “Cousin Alicia prefers Penton because she was born there, and in the same way we—”
“I understand,” the stranger said. But the girls were not clever enough to divine what it was he understood, whether he took this profession of faith in the Hook as simply genuine, or perceived the irritation and anxiety which worked even in their less anxious souls. He began to talk about the great entertainment that had taken place lately at Bannister. “It was got up regardless of expense,” he said, “and it was very effective as a show. All that plaster and pretense looks better in the glow of Bengal lights—of course, you were—What am I thinking of? It is not your time yet for gayeties of that kind.”