Very likely he did, but, just as likely it would not have done him any especial amount of good if he had been familiar with every word of it.
He was only one of the vast crowd of human beings who “make their own bed” and then have to lie on it.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE FISHING PARTY
That Saturday morning dawned fair enough in Ogleport.
To be sure, there were a few clouds lurking along the far away outlines of the hills, but they did not seem to amount to anything in particular; not even enough to justify Mrs. Dryer in bringing such a very cloudy face to the breakfast-table.
She had said all she had to say, and that was no very small thing, to the Doctor, before they went to sleep the night before and as soon as they waked up that morning, but she had somehow failed in getting a fair chance at Euphemia.
In fact, for once in her life, to say the very least, Effie Dryer’s face was not altogether sunny. The usually smiling mouth had settled into lines that betokened a mind made up and a temper not to be trifled with.
It is barely possible that her father’s third wife had sense enough to understand the meaning of Effie’s face, and so, although there were clouds enough at that end of the breakfast-table, they followed the good example of those on the hills and waited a better opportunity before breaking into anything like a storm.