Harry had been full of the story of the day at the dinner-table, where he
still continued to present himself; for his father would not be satisfied
without hint. It was certainly good moral training for the boy, to sit
there almost without eating; and none the worse that he found it rather
hard sometimes. He talked much more freely now, and asked the servants for
anything he wanted without referring to Euphra. Now and then he would
glance at her, as if afraid of offending her; but the cords which bound
him to her were evidently relaxing; and she saw it plainly enough, though
she made no reference to the unpleasing fact.
“I am only a little fearful, uncle, lest Mr. Sutherland should urge the
boy to do more than his strength will admit of. He is exceedingly kind to
him, but he has evidently never known what weakness is himself.”
“True, there is danger of that. But you see he has taken him so entirely
into his own hands. I don’t seem to be allowed a word in the matter of his
education any more.” Mr. Arnold spoke with the peevishness of weak
importance. “I wish you would take care that he does not carry things too
far, Euphra.”
This was just what Euphra wanted.
“I think, if you do not disapprove, uncle, I will have Fatima saddled
to-morrow morning, and go with them myself.”
“Thank you, my love; I shall be much obliged to you.” The glass of claret
was soon finished after this. A little more conversation about nothing
followed, and Euphra rose the second time, and returned to the
drawing-room. She found it unoccupied. She sat down to the piano, and sang
song after song—Scotch, Italian, and Bohemian. But Hugh did not make
his appearance. The fact was, he was busy writing to his mother, whom he
had rather neglected since he came. Writing to her made him think of
David, and he began a letter to him too; but it was never finished, and
never sent. He did not return to the drawing-room that evening. Indeed,
except for a short time, while Mr. Arnold was drinking his claret, he
seldom showed himself there. Had Euphra repelled him too much—hurt
him? She would make up for it to-morrow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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