CHAPTER V.
Mr. Sandford went down next day to the seaside to join his family. They had got a very pleasant house, in full sight of the sea. “What was the use of going to the sea at all,” Mrs. Sandford said, “unless you got the full good of it? All the sunsets and effects, and its aspect at every hour of the day, which was so very different from having merely glimpses of it—that is what my husband likes,” she said. And of course this meant the most expensive place. He was met at the station by his wife and little Mary, the youngest, who was always considered papa’s favourite. The others had all gone along the coast with a large pic-nic party, some of them in a boat, some riding—for there were fine sands—and a delightful gallop along that crisp firm road, almost within the flash of the waves, was most invigorating. “They all look ever so much the better for it already,” said the fond mother.
“There was not much the matter with them before that I could see.”
“Oh, nothing the matter! But they do so enjoy the sea. And I find there are a great many people here whom we know—more than usual; and a great deal going on.”
“There is generally a good deal going on.”
“My dear Edward, staying behind has not been good for you; you are looking pale; and I never heard you grudge the children their little pleasures before.”
“I stayed at home, papa,” said little Mary, not willing to be unappreciated, “to be the first to see you.”
“You are always a good little girl,” said the father gratefully.
“I assure you they were all anxious to stay: but I did not think you would like them to give up a pleasure,” said Mrs. Sandford, never willing to have any of her children subjected to an unfavourable comparison.
“No; oh no,” he said, with a sigh. It was almost impossible not to feel a grudge at the thought of that careless enjoyment, no one taking any thought; but he could not burst out with any disclosures of his trouble before little Mary, looking up wistfully in his face with a child’s sensitiveness to the perception of something wrong. Mary was more ready to perceive this than Mrs. Sandford, who only thought that her husband was perhaps a little out of temper, or annoyed by some trifling matter, or merely affected by the natural misanthropy of three days’ solitude. She clasped his arm caressingly with her hand as she led him along.