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Grant even that there had been something more between her and Alick Corfield than he would quite like to hear which was his first thought still, that more must needs be very little, could but be very simple.
"And friends," repeated Leam. "But they are not much." "Alick Corfield? He is my good friend," she answered quietly. "Yes, I know how much you like him." An understanding ear would have caught the sneering undertone in these words. "Yes, I like him," responded Leam with unmoved gravity. "And you are sorry that he is ill very sorry, awfully sorry?" "I am sorry."
This perpetual taking up of new subjects, new occupations, made thoroughness the one thing unattainable. Mrs. Corfield was a woman who went in for everything. She was by turns scientific and artistic, a student and a teacher, but she was too discursive to be accurate, and she was satisfied with a proficiency far below perfection.
As it is in the blood of most Englishmen from the "West Country" to seek adventure abroad, it is little wonder that the visit of an uncle from Australia strengthened a desire I felt to seek my fortune in that country. This uncle H. C. Corfield was the owner of some pastoral country in the Burnett district, and described in glowing terms life in the Australian bush.
And George Corfield. He wanted me to marry him. And I wouldn't." "Why didn't you?" "Because Dicky's always funny when you want to be serious and George is always serious when you want to be funny. Besides, he's so good. His goodness would have been too much for me altogether. Fancy beginning with George." "This seems to have been a pretty rotten beginning, anyway." "The beginning was all right.
"Only a mother who has been so near to the loss of her dearest, so near to heartbreak and despair, as I have been, can know the blessed joy of the reprieve." "How you love him!" said Leam in a half whisper. "I loved mamma like that." "Yes, poor child! I remember," said Mrs. Corfield with compassion.
Corfield spoke of taking him to the sea for change of air, her heart bounded as if a weight had been suddenly removed, and she said, "Yes, he ought to go," so warmly that the mother was surprised, wondering if she cared so much for him that the idea of his getting good elated her beyond herself and made her forget her usual reserve.
"Oh, these girls! these wicked girls!" Mrs. Corfield had said with a mother's irrational anger when speaking of the circumstance to her husband. "We bring up our boys only for them to take from us. As soon as they begin to be some kind of comfort and to repay the anxiety of their early days, then a wretched little huzzy steps in and makes one's life in vain." "Just so, my dear," said Dr.
She seemed to belong to no one, now that Edgar had let her slip from his hands so coldly not even to Mrs. Corfield, who had brought her, nor yet to her faithful friend and guardian Alick, who wandered round and round about her in circles like a dog, doing his best to make her feel befriended and to clear her dear face of some of its sadness.
For it was no use saying that courage, physical courage, didn't count. She could remember a long conversation she had had with George Corfield, the man who wanted to marry her, about that. He had said courage was the least thing you could have. That only meant that, whatever else you hadn't, you must have that. It was a sort of trust. You were trusted not to betray defenceless things.
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