'And sanitary reform is Dr. John's special hobby. Yes, I see; it is a grievous pity,' assented Richard, and then he resumed the old topic. It was not that he was unsympathising, but he could not forget the happiness of being alone with Ethel; the opportunity had come for which he had longed all last night. As he talked on calmly and rapidly his temples beat and ached with excitement. Once or twice he stole a furtive glance as she sat somewhat absently beside him. Could he venture it? would not his lips close if he essayed a subject at once so sweet and perilous? As he talked he noted every trick, every gesture; the quaint fashion of her dress, made of some soft, clinging material; it had a Huguenot sleeve, he remembered—for she had told him it was designed from a French picture—and was trimmed with old Venetian point; an oddly-shaped mosaic ring gleamed on one of her long taper fingers and was her only ornament. He had never seen her look so picturesque and yet so sweet as she did that night, but as he looked the last particle of courage seemed to desert him. Ethel listened only absently as he talked; she was straining her ears to catch some sound from the adjoining room. For once Richard's talk wearied her. How loudly the birds were chirping their good-night—would he come in and wish her good-bye as he used to do, and then linger for an hour or so over his cup of coffee? Hark! that was his voice. Was he going? And, oh! surely that was not her father's answering him.
'Hush! oh, please hush!' she exclaimed, holding out a hand as though to silence him, and moving towards the door. 'Oh, Richard, what shall we do? I knew it would come to this.'
'Come to what? Is there anything the matter? Please do not look so pale over it.' What had she heard—what new vexation was this? But as he stood beside her, even he caught the low, vehement tones of some angry discussion. There was no denying Ethel's paleness; she almost wrung her hands.
'Of course; did I not tell you? Oh, you do not know papa! When he is angry like this, he will say things that no one can bear. Dr. Heriot will never come here again—never! He is quarrelling with all his friends. By and by he will with you, and then you will learn to hate us.'
'No, no—you must not say that,' replied Richard, soothingly. With her distress all his courage had returned. He even ventured to touch her hand, but she drew it quickly away. She was not thinking of Richard now, but of a certain kind friend whose wise counsels she had learnt to value.
At least he should not go without bidding her good-bye. Ethel never thought of prudence in these moments of hot indignation. To Richard's dismay she caught her hand away from him and flung open the door.
'Why is Dr. Heriot going, papa?' she asked, walking up to them with a certain majesty of gait which she could assume at times. As she asked the question she flashed one of her keen, open-eyed looks on her father. The Squire's olive complexion had turned sallow with suppressed wrath, the veins on his forehead were swollen like whipcord; as he answered her, the harshness of his voice grated roughly on her ear.
'You are not wanted, Ethel; go back to young Lambert. I cannot allow girls to interfere in my private business.'
'You have quarrelled with Dr. Heriot, papa,' returned Ethel, in her ringing tones, and keeping her ground unflinchingly, in spite of Richard's whispered remonstrance.
'Come away—you will only make it worse,' he whispered; but she had turned her face impatiently from him.