Indeed, each day began to make it evident that he had, on the whole, rather a superabundance of animation than otherwise. He was quite confidential with Mrs. Edmonstone, on whom he used to lavish, with boyish eagerness, all that interested him, carrying her the passages in books that pleased him, telling her about Redclyffe's affairs, and giving her his letters from Markham, the steward. His head was full of his horse, Deloraine, which was coming to him under the charge of a groom, and the consultations were endless about the means of transport, Mr. Edmonstone almost as eager about it as he was himself.
He did not so quickly become at home with the younger portion of the family, but his spirits rose every day. He whistled as he walked in the garden, and Bustle, instead of pacing soberly behind him, now capered, nibbled his pockets, and drew him into games of play which Charles and Amabel were charmed to overlook from the dressing-room window. There was Guy leaping, bounding, racing, rolling the dog over, tripping him up, twitching his ears, tickling his feet, catching at his tail, laughing at Bustle's springs, contortions, and harmless open-mouthed attacks, while the dog did little less than laugh too, with his intelligent amber eyes, and black and red mouth. Charles began to find a new interest in his listless life in the attempt to draw Guy out, and make him give one of his merry laughs. In this, however, he failed when his wit consisted in allusions to the novels of the day, of which Guy knew nothing. One morning he underwent a regular examination, ending in-'Have you read anything?'
'I am afraid I am very ignorant of modern books.'
'Have you read the ancient ones?' asked Laura.
'I've had nothing else to read.'
'Nothing to read but ancient books!' exclaimed Amabel, with a mixture of pity and astonishment.
'Sanchoniathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus!' said Guy, smiling.
'There, Amy,' said Charles, 'if he has the Vicar of Wakefield among his ancient books, you need not pity him.'
'It is like Philip,' said Laura; 'he was brought up on the old standard books, instead of his time being frittered away on the host of idle modern ones.'
'He was free to concentrate his attention on Sir Charles Grandison,' said Charles.
'How could any one do so?' said Guy. 'How could any one have any sympathy with such a piece of self-satisfaction?'
'Who could? Eh, Laura?' said Charles.
'I never read it,' said Laura, suspecting malice.
'What is your opinion of perfect heroes?' continued Charles.