“What for?” said Mr Elthorne.
“He seems to understand my constitution better than anyone I have ever been to.”
“Bah!” ejaculated her brother. “He is only an apprentice to his trade. Mark my words: he’ll poison you one of these days by making experiments upon you.”
“Really, my dear, you shouldn’t. I’m sure Neil has too much respect for his aunt to be so wicked,” said the lady, going on with her breakfast very composedly. “I hope he will soon cure Maria, though, and send her back. I do miss her sadly.”
“Humph!” grumbled Mr Elthorne; “that’s why you were so late, I suppose.”
“No, Ralph. Alison, my dear, give me a bit of that toast that is soaked in gravy; thank you, my dear. I do not say that; I know I am late this morning, but I do miss her very much. But I thought you people were going out riding.”
“So we are,” said Alison.
Aunt Anne turned to her niece.
“Oh, I can soon put on my riding habit, Auntie. A little more sugar?”
“Well, yes, just a very little more, my dear; thank you. Ralph, I hope you will be careful over that new horse.”
“Why?” said Mr Elthorne, sharply; and Aunt Anne prattled on.
“Because Alison was saying he thought it had a bad temper, and I always do feel so nervous about horses that kick and bite.”
“Perhaps you’d like me to be tied on.”
“Now, Ralph, you are making fun of me,” said the lady placidly. “Of course I should not.”
“Or have the groom with me to hold a leading-rein?”
“Nonsense, Ralph, dear; that would be absurd; but if the horse bites, I should like you to make it wear that leather thing over its nose.”
“What?” roared Mr Elthorne.
“The crib-biter’s muzzle, father!” cried Alison, roaring with laughter; and the head of the house uttered a fierce growl.
“I do not see anything to laugh at, Alison,” said the lady reprovingly. “I may not understand much about horses, but I have heard that their bite is very dangerous.”
“Don’t you go near him,” said Mr Elthorne sneeringly. “Al!”
“Yes, father.”
“Is Sir Cheltnam coming over this morning?” Isabel looked conscious, and glanced uneasily at the speaker.
“Said he should,” replied Alison.
“Then you’d better mind what you are about.”
“I always do,” said the young man sourly.
“Don’t speak to me in that tone, sir.”
“Now, Ralph, dear! – Alison!” cried Aunt Anne, turning from one to the other as she hastily interposed, to play the part of mediator. “You should not speak so abruptly to papa. But I’m sure he did not mean to be disrespectful, Ralph.”
“You mind your own business, madam; I can manage my children,” growled Mr Elthorne. “A puppy! Do you think I’m blind? Sir Cheltnam was cutting in before you all the time we were out last, and I could see that Dana was encouraging him out of pique. She as good as owned to it afterward to me.”
“I don’t suppose Burwood would like it if he knew you called him a puppy.”
“I did not, sir – I called you one.”
“Don’t – pray don’t be angry, Ralph,” said Aunt Anne softly.
“I told you to mind your own business, madam,” said her brother shortly. “If you’d do that, and look after the housekeeping, I should not have my digestion ruined with gutta percha kidneys and leathery toast. Now, look here, Alison, as this topic has cropped up, please understand me. I don’t like to speak so plainly about such delicate matters, but one must be clear when the future careers of young people are in question.”
“Oh, dear me,” muttered Alison. “More coffee, Isabel,” he added aloud, while his father pushed away his plate, took off his glasses, and began to swing them round by the string.
“If that cord breaks, Ralph, those glasses will break something,” said Aunt Anne, and Mr Elthorne uttered an impatient snort.
“Now, look here, Alison. I suppose you fully understand that I have a reason in encouraging the visits here of those two girls?”
“Yes, father, I suppose so.”
“Humph – that’s right; but don’t be so indifferent. Dana is an exceedingly pretty, clever girl; a splendid horsewoman; of good birth; and she and Saxa have capital portions. One of them will have Morton, of course; in all probability Dana, for Saxa, when she marries your brother, will go to live in town. Now, I should like to know what more a young fellow of your age could wish for – the money you will get from me, Morton Court, Dana’s portion, and a pretty, clever wife.”
“I think you might have put the lady first, Ralph,” said Aunt Anne.
“Mrs Barnett, will you be good enough to finish your breakfast, and let me speak,” said Mr Elthorne cuttingly. “Then, by-and-by, you will be on the bench, and, before long, have a third of your aunt’s money, for she cannot live long if she eats so much.”
“My dear Ralph,” cried the lady.
“Can you make any better plans, sir? If so, pray let me hear them, there is no coercion – I merely ask you all to do well, and be happy.”
“Oh, no, I have no plans. I like Dana very well. She’s a jolly enough girl.”
“Then that’s settled, sir; only just bear it in mind, and don’t let Burwood be stuffing her head full of nonsensical ideas. Some girls would be attracted at once by the prospect of becoming ‘my lady,’ but Dana is too shrewd.”
“Almost a pity that the girls have no brother,” said Alison carelessly.
“Why, sir?” said his father sharply.
“Because then he could have married little Isabel, and completed the combination,” said Alison, looking meaningly at his sister.
“Don’t be an ass, boy. Hallo! Who’s this?” cried Mr Elthorne, turning sharply in his chair as a bell rang.
“Only Beck, father. I asked him to come with us.” Mr Elthorne turned upon his son mute with anger and annoyance; hence he did not notice the bright look and increase of colour in his daughter’s face. “You asked him to come over – this morning?”
“Yes, father. Poor beggar, he only has a few more days before he sails for China, and I thought it would be neighbourly. Old Beck is always very nice to me.”
“Oh, very well,” said Mr Elthorne abruptly; and Isabel uttered a low sigh of relief as she busied herself over her aunt’s cup, suddenly displaying great anxiety that the placid looking lady should have some more coffee.
“Better ask him in to breakfast, Al,” said Mr Elthorne.
“Yes; I was going to,” said Alison, rising and leaving the room, to return in a few minutes with a frank, manly looking young fellow of seven or eight and twenty, whose face was of a rich, warm brown up to the centre of his forehead, and there became white up to his curly chestnut hair, which was a little darker than his crisp, closely cut beard.
“Ah, Beck, come over for a ride with us?” said Mr Elthorne. “How is the vicar?”
“Quite well, sir.”
“And Mrs Beck?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Alison was good enough to ask me to join your party.”
He shook hands with