'Oh, the dog is the most delightful creature I ever saw, so sensible and well-mannered.'
'It was of the man that I asked.'
'He said hardly anything, and sometimes started if papa spoke to him suddenly. He winced as if he could not bear to be called Sir Guy, so papa said we should call him only by his name, if he would do the same by us. I am glad of it, for it seems more friendly, and I am sure he wants to be comforted.'
'Don't waste your compassion, my dear; few men need it less. With his property, those moors to shoot over, his own master, and with health to enjoy it, there are plenty who would change with him for all your pity, my silly little Amy.'
'Surely not, with that horrible ancestry.'
'All very well to plume oneself upon. I rather covet that ghost myself.'
'Well, if you watched his face, I think you would be sorry for him.'
'I am tired of the sound of his name. One fifth of November is enough in the year. Here, find something to read to me among that trumpery.'
Amy read till she was summoned to tea, when she found a conversation going on about Philip, on whose history Sir Guy did not seem fully informed. Philip was the son of Archdeacon Morville, Mrs. Edmonstone's brother, an admirable and superior man, who had been dead about five years. He left three children, Margaret and Fanny, twenty-five and twenty-three years of age, and Philip, just seventeen. The boy was at the head of his school, highly distinguished for application and good conduct; he had attained every honour there open to him, won golden opinions from all concerned with him, and made proof of talents which could not have failed to raise him to the highest university distinctions. He was absent from home at the time of his father's death, which took place after so short an illness, that there had been no time to summon him back to Stylehurst. Very little property was left to be divided among the three; and as soon as Philip perceived how small was the provision for his sisters, he gave up his hopes of university honours, and obtained a commission in the army.
On hearing this, Sir Guy started forward: 'Noble!' he cried, 'and yet what a pity! If my grandfather had but known it--'
'Ah! I was convinced of that,' broke in Mr. Edmonstone, 'and so, I am sure, was Philip himself; but in fact he knew we should never have given our consent, so he acted quite by himself, wrote to Lord Thorndale, and never said a word, even to his sisters, till the thing was done. I never was more surprised in my life.'