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said Charles. ‘All that Margaret has in keeping against Philip has a house of his own.’

      ‘Sancho somebody, and all you talked of when first you came?’ said Amy.

      ‘We were talking of the hour’s reading that Charlie and I have had together lately,’ said Guy.

      ‘I was thinking how Charlie would miss that hour,’ said Amy; ‘and we shall be very sorry not to have you to listen to.’

      ‘Well, then, Amy, suppose you read with me?’

      ‘Oh, Charlie, thank you! Should you really like it?’ cried Amy, colouring with delight. ‘I have always thought it would be so very delightful if you would read with me, as James Ross used with Mary, only I was afraid of tiring you with my stupidity. Oh, thank you!’

      So it was settled, and Charles declared that he put himself on honour to give a good account of their doings to Guy, that being the only way of making himself steady to his resolution; but he was perfectly determined not to let Philip know anything about the practice he had adopted, since he would by no means allow him to guess that he was following his advice.

      Charles had certainly grown very fond of Guy, in spite of his propensity to admire Philip, satisfying himself by maintaining that, after all, Guy only tried to esteem his cousin because he thought it a point of duty, just as children think it right to admire the good boy in a story book; but that he was secretly fretted and chafed by his perfection. No one could deny that there were often occasions when little misunderstandings would arise, and that, but for Philip’s coolness and Guy’s readiness to apologise they might often have gone further; but at the same time no one could regret these things more than Guy himself, and he was willing and desirous to seek Philip’s advice and assistance when needed. In especial, he listened earnestly to the counsel which was bestowed on him about Oxford: and Mrs. Edmonstone was convinced that no one could have more anxiety to do right and avoid temptation. She had many talks with him in her dressing-room, promising to write to him, as did also Charles; and he left Hollywell with universal regrets, most loudly expressed by Charlotte, who would not be comforted without a lock of Bustle’s hair, which she would have worn round her neck if she had not been afraid that Laura would tell Philip.

      ‘He goes with excellent intentions,’ said Philip, as they watched him from the door.

      ‘I do hope he will do well,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone.

      ‘I wish he may,’ said Philip; ‘the agreeableness of his whole character makes one more anxious. It is very dangerous. His name, his wealth, his sociable, gay disposition, that very attractive manner, all are so many perils, and he has not that natural pleasure in study that would be of itself a preservative from temptation. However, he is honestly anxious to do right, and has excellent principles. I only fear his temper and his want of steadiness. Poor boy, I hope he may do well!’

      CHAPTER 7

                          —Pray, good shepherd, what

      Fair swain is this that dances with your daughter?

      He sings several times faster than you’ll tell money;

      he utters them as he had eaten ballads, and all men’s

      ears grow to his tunes.

—WINTER’S TALE

      It was a glorious day in June, the sky of pure deep dazzling blue, the sunshine glowing with brightness, but with cheerful freshness in the air that took away all sultriness, the sun tending westward in his long day’s career, and casting welcome shadows from the tall firs and horse-chestnuts that shaded the lawn. A long rank of haymakers—men and women—proceeded with their rakes, the white shirt-sleeves, straw bonnets, and ruddy faces, radiant in the bath of sunshine, while in the shady end of the field were idler haymakers among the fragrant piles, Charles half lying on the grass, with his back against a tall haycock; Mrs. Edmonstone sitting on another, book in hand; Laura sketching the busy scene, the sun glancing through the chequered shade on her glossy curls; Philip stretched out at full length, hat and neck-tie off, luxuriating in the cool repose after a dusty walk from Broadstone; and a little way off, Amabel and Charlotte pretending to make hay, but really building nests with it, throwing it at each other, and playing as heartily as the heat would allow.

      They talked and laughed, the rest were too hot, too busy, or too sleepy for conversation, even Philip being tired into enjoying the “dolce far niente”; and they basked in the fresh breezy heat and perfumy hay with only now and then a word, till a cold, black, damp nose was suddenly thrust into Charles’s face, a red tongue began licking him; and at the same moment Charlotte, screaming ‘There he is!’ raced headlong across the swarths of hay, to meet Guy, who had just ridden into the field. He threw Deloraine’s rein to one of the haymakers, and came bounding to meet her, just in time to pick her up as she put her foot into a hidden hole, and fell prostrate.

      In another moment he was in the midst of the whole party, who crowded round and welcomed him as if he had been a boy returning from his first half-year’s schooling; and never did little school-boy look more holiday-like than he, with all the sunshine of that June day reflected, as it were, in his glittering eyes and glowing face, while Bustle escaping from Charles’s caressing arm, danced round, wagging his tail in ecstasy, and claiming his share of the welcome. Then Guy was on the ground by Charles, rejoicing to find him out there, and then, some dropping into their former nests on the hay, some standing round, they talked fast and eagerly in a confusion of sound that did not subside for the first ten minutes so as to allow anything to be clearly heard. The first distinct sentence was Charlotte’s ‘Bustle, darling old fellow, you are handsomer than ever!’

      ‘What a delicious day!’ next exclaimed Guy, following Philip’s example, by throwing off hat and neck-tie.

      ‘A spontaneous tribute to the beauty of the day,’ said Charles.

      ‘Really it is so ultra-splendid as to deserve notice!’ said Philip, throwing himself completely back, and looking up.

      ‘One cannot help revelling in that deep blue!’ said Laura.

      ‘Tomorrow’ll be the happiest time of all the glad new year,’ hummed Guy.

      ‘Ah you will teach us all now,’ said Laura, ‘after your grand singing lessons.’

      ‘Do you know what is in store for you, Guy?’ said Amy. ‘Oh! haven’t you heard about Lady Kilcoran’s ball?’

      ‘You are to go, Guy,’ said Charlotte. ‘I am glad I am not. I hate dancing.’

      ‘And I know as much about it as Bustle,’ said Guy, catching the dog by his forepaws, and causing him to perform an uncouth dance.

      ‘Never mind, they will soon teach you,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone.

      ‘Must I really go?’

      ‘He begins to think it serious,’ said Charles.

      ‘Is Philip going?’ exclaimed Guy, looking as if he was taken by surprise.

      ‘He is going to say something about dancing being a healthful recreation for young people,’ said Charles.

      ‘You’ll be disappointed,’ said Philip. ‘It is much too hot to moralize.’

      ‘Apollo unbends his bow,’ exclaimed Charles. ‘The captain yields the field.’

      ‘Ah! Captain Morville, I ought to have congratulated you,’ said Guy. ‘I must come to Broadstone early enough to see you on parade.’

      ‘Come to Broadstone! You aren’t still bound to Mr. Lascelles,’ said Charles.

      ‘If he has time for me,’ said Guy. ‘I am too far behind the rest of the world to afford to be idle this vacation.’

      ‘That’s right, Guy,’ exclaimed Philip, sitting up, and looking full of approval. ‘With so much perseverance, you must get on at last. How did you do in collections?’

      ‘Tolerably, thank you.’

      ‘You must be able to enter into the thing now,’ proceeded Philip. ‘What are you

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