"A headache again--I am sorry to hear it."
"It is only that suffocating den of yours. My head ached from the moment I looked into it. How can you take Ethel into such a hole, Richard? It is enough to kill her to go on with it for ever."
"It is not so every day," said the elder brother quietly. "It is a warm day, and there was an unusual crowd."
"I shall speak to my father," exclaimed Norman, with somewhat of the supercilious tone that he had now and then been tempted to address to his brother. "It is not fit that Ethel should give up everything, health and all, to such a set as these. They look as if they had been picked out of the gutter--dirt, squalor, everything disgusting, and summer coming on, too, and that horrid place with no window to open! It is utterly unbearable!"
Richard stooped to pick up a heavy basket, then smiled and said, "You must get over such things as these if you mean to be a clergyman, Norman."
"Whatever I am to be, it does not concern the girls being in such a place as this. I am surprised that you could suffer it."
There was no answer--Richard was walking off with his basket, and putting it into the carriage. Norman was not pleased with himself, but thought it his duty to let his father know his opinion of Ethel's weekly resort. All he wished was to avoid Ethel herself, not liking to show her his sentiments, and he was glad to see her put into the gig with Aubrey and Mary.
They rushed into the drawing-room, full of glee, when they came home, all shouting their news together, and had not at first leisure to perceive that Margaret had some tidings for them in return. Mr. Rivers had been there, with a pressing invitation to his daughter's school-feast, and it had been arranged that Flora and Ethel should go and spend the day at the Grange, and their father come to dine, and fetch them home in the evening. Margaret had been much pleased with the manner in which the thing was done. When Dr. May, who seemed reluctant to accept the proposal that related to himself, was called out of the room, Mr. Rivers had, in a most kind manner, begged her to say whether she thought it would be painful to him, or whether it might do his spirits good. She decidedly gave her opinion in favour of the invitation, Mr. Rivers gained his point, and she had ever since been persuading her father to like the notion, and assuring him it need not be made a precedent for the renewal of invitations to dine out in the town. He thought the change would be pleasant for his girls, and had, therefore, consented.
"Oh, papa, papa! thank you!" cried Ethel, enraptured, as soon as he came into the room. "How very kind of you! How I have wished to see the Grange, and all Norman talks about! Oh, dear! I am so glad you are going there too!"
"Why, what should you do with me?" said Dr. May, who felt and looked depressed at this taking up of the world again.
"Oh, dear! I should not like it at all without you! It would be no fun at all by ourselves. I wish Flora would come home. How pleased she will be! Papa, I do wish you would look as if you didn't mind it! I can't enjoy it if you don't like going."
"I shall when I am there, my dear," said the doctor affectionately, putting his arm around her as she stood by him. "It will be a fine day's sport for you."
"But can't you like it beforehand, papa?"
"Not just this minute, Ethel," said he, with his bright, sad smile. "All I like just now is my girl's not being able to do without me; but we'll do the best we can. So your flock acquitted themselves brilliantly? Who is your Senior Wrangler?"
Ethel threw herself eagerly into the history of the examination, and had almost forgotten the invitation till she heard the front door open. Then it was not she, but Margaret, who told Flora--Ethel could not, as she said, enjoy what seemed to sadden her father. Flora received it much more calmly. "It will be very pleasant," said she; "it was very kind of papa to consent. You will have Richard and Norman, Margaret, to be with you in the evening."
And, as soon as they went upstairs, Ethel began to write down the list of prizes in her school journal, while Flora took out the best evening frocks, to study whether the crape looked fresh enough.
The invitation was a convenient subject of conversation, for Norman had so much to tell his sisters of the curiosities they must look for at the Grange, that he was not obliged to mention Cocksmoor. He did not like to mortify Ethel by telling her his intense disgust, and he knew he was about to do what she would think a great injury by speaking to his father on the subject; but he thought it for her real welfare, and took the first opportunity of making to his father and Margaret a most formidable description of Ethel's black-hole. It quite alarmed Margaret, but the doctor smiled, saying, "Ay, ay, I know the face Norman puts on if he looks into a cottage."
"Well," said Norman, with some mortification, "all I know is, that my head ached all the rest of the day."
"Very likely, but your head is not Ethel's, and there were twice as many people as the place was intended to hold."
"A stuffy hole, full of peat-smoke, and with a window that can't open at the best of times."
"Peat-smoke is wholesome," said Dr. May, looking provoking.
"You don't know what it is, papa, or you would never let Ethel spend her life there. It is poisonous!"
"I'll take care of Ethel," said Dr. May, walking off, and leaving Norman in a state of considerable annoyance at being thus treated. He broke out into fresh exclamations against the horrors of Cocksmoor, telling Margaret she had no idea what a den it was.
"But, Norman, it can't be so very bad, or Richard would not allow it."
"Richard is deluded!" said Norman; "but if he chooses to run after dirty brats, why should he take Ethel there?"
"My dear Norman, you know it is all Ethel's doing."
"Yes, I know she has gone crazy after them, and given up all her Greek for it. It is past endurance!" said Norman, who had worked himself up into great indignation.
"Well, but surely, Norman, it is better they should do what they can for those poor creatures, than for Ethel to learn Greek."
"I don't know that. Let those who are fit for nothing else go and drone over A B C with ragged children, if they like. It is just their vocation; but there is an order in everything, Margaret, and minds of a superior kind are intended for higher purposes, not to be wasted in this manner."
"I don't know whether they are wasted," said Margaret, not quite liking Norman's tone, though she had not much to say to his arguments.
"Not wasted? Not in doing what any one can do? I know what you'll say about the poor. I grant it, but high ability must be given for a purpose, not to be thrown away. It is common-sense, that some one must be meant to do the dirty work."
"I see what you mean, Norman, but I don't quite like that to be called by such a name. I think--" she hesitated. "Don't you think you dislike such things more than--"
"Any one must abominate dirt and slovenliness. I know what you mean. My father thinks 'tis all nonsense in me, but his profession has made him insensible to such things, and he fancies every one else is the same! Now, Margaret, am I unreasonable?"
"I am sure I don't know, dear Norman," said Margaret, hesitating, and feeling it her duty to say something; "I dare say it was very disagreeable."
"And you think, too, that I made a disturbance for nothing?"
"No, indeed I don't, nor does dear papa. I have no doubt he will see whether it is proper for Ethel. All I think he meant is, that perhaps your not being well last winter has made you a little more sensitive in such things."
Norman paused, and coloured. He remembered the pain it had given him to find himself incapable of being of use to his father, and that he had resolved to conquer the weakness of nerve of which he was ashamed; but he did not like to connect this with his fastidious feelings of refinement. He would not own to himself that they were over nice, and, at the bottom of all this justification, rankled Richard's saying, that he who cared for such things was unfit for a clergyman. Norman's secret thought was, it was all very well for those who could only aspire to parish work in wretched cottages-- people who could distinguish themselves were more useful at the university, forming minds, and opening new discoveries in learning.