CHAPTER XXV.

Oh, no, we never mention her, We never breathe her name.--SONG.

A great deal of merriment had come home with Harry, who never was grave for ten minutes without a strong reaction, and distracted the house with his noise and his antics, in proportion, as it sometimes seemed, to the spaces of serious thought and reading spent in the study, where Dr.

May did his best to supply Mr. Ramsden's insufficient attention to his Confirmation candidates, by giving an hour every day to Norman, Ethel, and Harry. He could not lecture, but he read with them, and his own earnestness was very impressive.

The two eldest felt deeply, but Harry often kept it in doubt, whether he were not as yet too young and wild for permanent impressions, so rapid were his transitions, and so overpowering his high spirits. Not that these were objected to; but there was a feeling that there might as well be moderation in all things, and that it would have been satisfactory if, under present circumstances, he had been somewhat more subdued and diligent.

"There are your decimals not done yet, Harry."

For Harry, being somewhat deficient in arithmetic, had been recommended to work in that line during his visit at home--an operation usually deferred, as at present, to the evening.

"I am going to do my sums now, Flora," said Harry, somewhat annoyed.

He really fetched his arithmetic, and his voice was soon heard asking how he was ever to put an end to a sum that would turn to nothing but everlasting threes.

"What have you been doing, young ladies?" asked Dr. May. "Did you call on Miss Walkingham?"

"Flora and Blanche did," said Ethel; "I thought you did not want me to go, and I had not time. Besides, a London grand young lady--oh!" and Ethel shook her head in disgust.

"That is not the way you treat Meta Rivers."

"Oh, Meta is different! She has never been out!"

"I should have been glad for you to have seen Miss Walkingham," said her father. "Pretty manners are improving; besides, old Lady Walkingham begged me to send my daughters."

"I should not have seen her," said Ethel, "for she was not well enough to let us in."

"Was it not pushing?" said Flora. "There were the Andersons leaving their card!"

"Those Andersons!" exclaimed the doctor; "I am sick of the very sound of the name. As sure as my name is Dick May, I'll include it in Margaret's book of fines."

Flora looked dignified.

"They are always harping on that little trumpery girl's nonsense," said Harry. "Aught, aught, eight, that is eight thousandths, eh, Norman! If it was about those two fellows, the boys--"

"You would harp only on what affects you?" said the doctor.

"No, I don't; men never do. That is one hundred and twenty-fifth."

"One man does it to an hundred and twenty-five women?" said Dr. May.

"It is rather a female defect, indeed," said Margaret.

"Defect!" said Flora.

"Yes," said Dr. May, "since it is not only irksome to the hearers, but leads to the breaking of the ninth commandment."

Many voices declared, in forms of varying severity, that it was impossible to speak worse of the Andersons than they deserved.

"Andersons again!" cried Dr. May. "One, two, three, four, five, six forfeits!"

"Papa himself, for he said the name," saucily put in Blanche.

"I think I should like the rule to be made in earnest," said Ethel.

"What! in order to catch Flora's pence for Cocksmoor?" suggested Harry.

"No, but because it is malice. I mean, that is, if there is dislike, or a grudge in our hearts at them--talking for ever of nasty little miserable irritations makes it worse."

"Then why do you do it?" asked Flora. "I heard you only on Sunday declaiming about Fanny Anderson."

"Ha!" cried out all at once. "There goes Flora."

She looked intensely serious and innocent.

"I know," said Ethel. "It is the very reason I want the rule to be made, just to stop us, for I am sure we must often say more than is right."

"Especially when we come to the pass of declaring that the ninth commandment cannot be broken in regard to them," observed the doctor.

"Most likely they are saying much the same of us," said Richard.

"Or worse," rejoined Dr. May. "The injured never hates as much as the injurer."

"Now papa has said the severest thing of all!" whispered Ethel.

"Proving the inexpedience of personalities," said Dr. May, "and in good time enter the evening post.--Why! how now, Mr. May, are you gone mad?"

"Hallo! why ho! ha! hurrah!" and up went Harry's book of decimals to the ceiling, coming down upon a candle, which would have been overturned on Ethel's work, if it had not been dexterously caught by Richard.

"Harry!" indignantly cried Ethel and Flora, "see what you have done;"

and the doctor's voice called to order, but Harry could not heed. "Hear!

hear! he has a fortune, an estate."

"Who? Tell us--don't be so absurd. Who?"

"Who, Mr. Ernescliffe. Here is a letter from Hector. Only listen:

"'Did you know we had an old far-away English cousin, one Mr. Halliday?

I hardly did, though Alan was named after him, and he belonged to my mother. He was a cross old fellow, and took no notice of us, but within the last year or two, his nephew, or son, or something, died, and now he is just dead, and the lawyer wrote to tell Alan he is heir-at-law. Mr.

Ernescliffe of Maplewood! Does it not sound well? It is a beautiful great place in Shropshire, and Alan and I mean to run off to see it as soon as he can have any time on shore.'"

Ethel could not help looking at Margaret, but was ashamed of her impertinence, and coloured violently, whereas her sister did not colour at all, and Norman, looking down, wondered whether Alan would make the voyage.