“I don’t know what you mean, Isabella,” he had replied; “but I suppose what is good enough for me is good enough for Archie.” And then Mrs. Drummond knew she had made a mistake, for her husband had felt bitterly the loss of his late dinner. So Archie tried to fall in with the habits of his family, and to enjoy the large plum or seed-cake that invariably garnished the tea-table; and, though he ate but sparingly of the supper, which always gave him indigestion, Grace was his only confidante in the matter. Mr. Drummond, indeed, looked at his son rather sharply once or twice, as though he suspected him of fastidiousness. “I cannot compliment you on your appetite,” he would say, as he helped himself to cold meat; “but perhaps our home fare is not so tempting as Oxford living?”
“I always say your meat is unusually good,” returned Archibald, amicably. “If there be any fault, it is in my appetite; but that Hadleigh air will soon set right.” But, though he answered his father after this tolerant fashion, he always added, in a mental aside, that nine-o’clock suppers were certainly barbarous institutions, and peculiarly deleterious to the constitution of an Oxford fellow.
Mrs. Drummond looked at them both somewhat keenly as they entered. In spite of her resolution, she was secretly uncomfortable at the thought that Archie was displeased with her: her daughter’s vexation was a burden that could be more easily borne; but her maternal heart yearned for some token that her boy was not estranged from her. But no such consolation was to be vouchsafed to her. She had kept his usual place vacant beside her; Archie showed no intention of taking it. He placed himself by his father, and began talking to him of a change of ministry that was impending, and which would overthrow the Conservative party. Mrs. Drummond, who was one of those women who can never be made to take any interest in politics, was reduced to the necessity of talking to Mattie in an undertone, for the other boys never put in an appearance at this meal; but as she talked she took stock of Grace’s pale, abstracted looks as she sat with her plate before her, not pretending to eat, and taking no notice of Susie and Laura, who chatted busily across her.
It was not a festive meal; on the contrary, there was an unusual air of restraint over the whole party. The younger members felt instinctively that there was something amiss. 104 Archie looked decidedly glum; and there was an expression on the mother’s face that they were not slow to interpret. No one could hear what it was she was saying to Mattie that made her look so red and nervous all at once; but presently she addressed herself abruptly to her husband:
“It is all settled, father. I have arranged with Archie that Matilda should go down to Hadleigh next month.”
Archie stroked his beard, but did not look up or make any remark, though poor Mattie looked at him beseechingly across the table, as though imploring a word. His mother would carry her point; but he would not pretend for a moment that he was otherwise than displeased, or that Mattie would be welcome.
His silence attracted Mr. Drummond’s attention.
“Oh, what, you have settled it, you say? I hope you are satisfied, Archie, and properly grateful to your mother for sparing Mattie. She is to go for a year. Well, it will be a grand change for her. I should not be surprised if you were to pick up a husband, Miss Mattie;” for Mr. Drummond was a man who, in spite of his cares, was not without his joke; but, as usual, it was instantly frowned down by his wife:
“I wonder at you, father, talking such nonsense before the children. Why are you giggling, Laura? It is very unseemly and ill-behaved. I hope no daughter of mine has such unmaidenly notions. Mattie is going to Hadleigh to be a comfort to her brother, and to keep his house as a clergyman’s house ought to be kept.”
“And you are satisfied, Archie?” asked Mr. Drummond, not quite pleased at his wife’s reprimand, and struck anew by his son’s silence.