In a very short time the keen-eyed, observing baronet had read the boy’s character without mistake. In fact, it was one of those characters—and the character was written on a face and stamped in a voice—which could not be mistaken.
And the baronet had, from the very first, felt it in his heart to thank his good fortune that had brought such a companion and playmate for his sweet child: and when, later, he had discovered that the low-born boy was competent to teach all that his loved one could wish to know, his thankfulness was increased to a degree that rendered him happily content.
And so, as we have already seen, matters had gone on during the few remaining months of the parent’s life. And since that time there had been no change. Percy had remained the lady’s true and loyal knight, teaching her all that she knew of school studies, and attending faithfully upon her whenever need required, or opportunity offered. In truth, the earl had appointed the youth to the post of teacher.
When the question had arisen concerning a resident tutor for the young girl, she had herself decided. She had put her foot down emphatically, and had said:
“I will have Percy Maitland for my tutor, and none other.”
And the earl had not disputed her. Really, he did not want a strange tutor beneath his roof; he did not want the trouble of selecting, with a chance, in the end, that he might be cheated.
The men in every way competent and morally qualified to teach a beautiful young lady, like his sweet ward, were not plenty. So it was, truly, a source of great relief to him when it had been finally decided that young Maitland should be her tutor.
And so matters had gone on from that time. If the old earl had ever asked himself if mischief, or trouble, could possibly come from it, he had not made the query manifest to others. Everything went so evenly, so smoothly, and so happily, that he had not the heart to disturb it.
With regard to Matthew, the young Lord Oakleigh, he was at home but little. It had been from the first his desire that he should attend school, with friends whom he loved, at Oxford; and his grandfather had not flatly refused him, though he had seriously objected.
Knowing the boy’s character as he did—knowing how prone he was to error, how untruthful he could be and how easily he gave way to passion—knowing this, the earl had felt it to be his duty to keep the lad at home if he could.