It was just what poor Hugh meant to do, for the moment, at least; and he sat with his head down and despair in his face, with a look which went to Mary’s heart, and brought the tears to her eyes, but a smile to her lips. He was so like his father; and Mrs. Ochterlony knew that he would not, in this way, at least, break her heart.
“Would you like to go to Uncle Penrose?” she said; to which Hugh replied with a vehement shake of his head. “Would you like to go into Mr. Allonby’s office? You know he spoke of wanting an articled pupil. Would you think of that proposal Mr. Mortare, the architect, made us?—don’t shake your head off, Hugh; or ask Sir Edward to let you help old Sanders—or—or—— Would you really like to be a soldier, like your brother?” said Mary, at her wits’ end; for after this, with their limited opportunities, there seemed no further suggestion to make.
“I must do something, mother,” said Hugh, and he rose up with another sigh; “but I don’t want to vex you,” he added, coming up and putting his arms round her with that admiring fondness which is perhaps sweeter to a woman from her son than even from her lover; and then, his mind being relieved, he had no objection to change the conversation. “I promised to look at the young colts, and tell Sir Edward what I thought of them,” he suddenly said, looking up at Mary with a cloudy, doubtful look—afraid of being laughed at, and yet himself ready to laugh—such as is not unusual upon a boy’s face. Mrs. Ochterlony did not feel in the least inclined for laughter, though she smiled upon her boy; and when he went away, a look of anxiety came to her face, though it was not anything like the tragical anxiety which contracted Aunt Agatha’s gentle countenance. She took up her work again, which was more than Miss Seton could do. The boys were no longer children, and life was coming back to her with their growing years. Life which is not peace, but more like a sword.
“My dear love, something must be done,” said Aunt Agatha. “Australia or New Zealand, and for a boy of his expectations! Mary, something must be done.”
“Yes,” said Mary. “I must go and consult my brother-in-law about it, and see what he thinks best. But as for New Zealand or Australia, Aunt Agatha——”
“Do you think it will be nice, Mary?” said Miss Seton, with a soft blush like a girl’s. “It will be like asking him, you know, what he means; it will be like saying he ought to provide——”
“He said Hugh was to be his heir,” said Mary, “and I believe he meant what he said; at all events, it would be wrong to do anything without consulting him, for he has always been very kind.”
These words threw Aunt Agatha into a flutter which she could not conceal. “It may be very well to consult him,” she said; “but rather than let him think we are asking his help—— And then, how can you see him, Mary? I am afraid it would be—awkward, to say the least, to ask him here——”
“I will go to Earlston to-morrow,” said Mary. “I made up my mind while Hugh was talking. After Islay has gone, it will be worse for poor Hugh. Will is so much younger, poor boy.”
“Will,” said Aunt Agatha, sighing, “Oh, Mary, if they had only been girls! we could have brought them up without any assistance, and no bother about professions or things. When you have settled Hugh and Islay, there will be Will to open it up again; and they will all leave us, after all. Oh, Mary, my dear love, if they had been but girls!”