That Stick ...

It was much easier to get on in a tкte-а-tкte, and before long Mr. Hailes had heard some of the perplexities about Herbert, the foremost of which was how to make him presentable for ladies’ society in the evening.  If Miss Morton’s presence had been anticipated, either his uncle would not have brought him, or would have fitted him out beforehand, for though he looked fit for the fields and woods in male company, evening costume had not yet dawned on his imagination.  Mr. Hailes recommended sending him in the morning to the town at Colbeam, under charge of the butler, Prowse—who would rather enjoy the commission, and was quite capable of keeping up any needed authority.  For the future training, the more important matter on which he was next consulted, Mr. Hailes mentioned the name of a private tutor, who was likely to be able to deal with the boy better under present circumstances than a public school could do—since at Herbert’s age, his ignorance of the classics on the one hand, and of gentlemanly habits on the other, would tell too much against him.

‘But,’ said Mr. Hailes, ‘Miss Morton will be a very good adviser to you on that head.’

p. 59‘She is very good-natured to him,’ said Frank.

‘No one living has a better heart than Miss Morton,’ said Mr. Hailes heartily; ‘a little eccentric, owing to—to circumstances.  She has had her troubles, poor dear; but she has as good a heart as ever was, as you will find, my Lord, in all arrangements with her.’

Nevertheless, Lord Northmoor’s feelings towards her might be startled the next morning, when he descended to the dining-room.  A screen cut off the door, and as he was coming round it, followed by his nephew, Bertha’s clear voice was heard saying, ‘Yes, he is inoffensive, but he is a stick.  There’s no denying it, Mr. Hailes, he is a dreadful stick.’

Frank was too far advanced to retire, before the meaning dawned on him, partly through a little explosion of Herbert behind him, and partly from the guilty consternation and colour with which the other two turned round from the erection of plants among which they were standing.

Yet it was the shy man who spoke first in the predicament, like a timid creature driven to bay.

‘Yes, Miss Morton, I know it is too true; no one is more sensible of it than myself.  I can only hope to do my best, such as it is.’

‘Oh, Northmoor, it was very horrid and unguarded in me, and I can only be sorry and beg your pardon,’ and while she laughed and held out her hand, there was a dew in her eyes.

‘Truths do not need pardon,’ he said, as he gave a cousinly grasp, ‘and I think you will try kindly to excuse my deficiencies and disadvantages.’

p. 60There was a certain dignity in his tone, and Bertha said heartily—

‘Thank you.  It is all right in essentials, and chatter is of very little consequence.  Now come and have some breakfast.’

They got on together far better after that, and began to feel like relations, before Herbert was sent off with Mr. Prowse to Colbeam.  Indeed, throughout the transactions that followed, Bertha showed herself far less devoted to her own interests than to what might be called the honour of the family.  Her father’s will had been made in haste, after the death of his little grandson, and was as concise as possible, her influence having told upon it.  Knowing that the new heir would have nothing to begin with, and aware that if he inherited merely the title, house, and land, he would be in great straits, the old Lord had bequeathed to him nearly what would have been left to the grandson, a fair proportion of the money in the funds and bank, and all the furniture and appurtenances of Northmoor House, excepting such articles as Bertha and Lady Adela might select, each up to a certain value.

Lady Adela’s had been few, and already chosen, and Bertha’s were manifestly only matters of personal belonging, and not up altogether to the amount named; so as to avoid stripping the place, which, at the best, was only splendid in utterly unaccustomed eyes.  Horses and carriages had to be bought of her, and it was she who told him what was absolutely necessary, and fixed the price as low as she could, so as not to make them a gift.  And he was not so ignorant in this matter as she had p. 61expected—for the old habits of his boyhood served him, he could ride well, and his scruples at Miss Morton’s estimate proved that he knew a horse when he saw it—as she said.  She would, perhaps, have liked him better if he had been a dissipated horsey man like his father.  He would have given her sensations—and on his side, considering the reputation of the family, he was surprised at her eager, almost passionate desire to be rid of the valuable horses and equipages as soon as possible.