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Updated: June 8, 2025
Hamish has not pleased me, and I cannot take him by the hand. There, let it rest." Mr. Channing was content to let it rest. In his inmost heart he entertained no doubt that the cause of offence was in some way connected with Mr. Huntley's daughter. Hamish was poor: Ellen would be rich; therefore it was only natural that Mr. Huntley should consider him an ineligible parti for her. Mr.
Huntley's manner, "This sad affair of his brother Arthur's debars him." "It ought not to debar him, even were Arthur guilty," warmly returned Mr. Huntley. "In justice to Tom Channing himself, no. But," and the master dropped his voice to a confidential tone, "it is necessary sometimes to study the prejudices taken up by a school; to see them, and not to appear to see them if you understand me.
Then " "My master says, will you please to walk into the dining-room, sir?" interrupted a servant at this juncture. And Hamish rose and followed him. Mr. Huntley was alone. Hamish threw his glance to the four corners of the room, but Ellen was not in it. The meeting was not very cordial on Mr. Huntley's side. "What can I do for you?" he inquired, as he shook hands.
Huntley's first call, and insisted on mistaking Barbara for me. Whether he is yet set right on that head is a point still enveloped in Cimmerian gloom. It is a bachelor establishment, as any one may perceive by a cursory glance at the disposition of the drawing-room furniture, and at the unfortunate flowers, tightly jammed, packed as thickly as they will go in one huge central bean-pot.
Algy, however, has no intention of helping anybody down. He has helped himself down; and, without a word or a look to any of his fellow-travellers, has thrown himself down on the heather at Mrs. Huntley's feet, and is relieving his mind by audible animadversions on our late triumphal progress. I am therefore left to the tender mercies of the grooms; at least, I should have been, if Mr.
Huntley's, where he had been a pretty constant visitor before; and he found his evenings hang somewhat heavily on his hands. Thus Constance saw a good deal of the Earl of Carrick; or, it may be more to the purpose to say, the earl saw a good deal of her. For the earl grew to like her very much indeed.
Huntley's white gate. Through the bars I see the sheltered laurestines all ablow. "May I wait for you here?" say I, with diffident urgency, reflecting hopefully, as I make the suggestion, on the wholesome effect, on the length of the interview that the knowledge of my being, flattening my nose against the bars of the gate all through it, must necessarily have.
"Has come!" repeat I, in astonishment, opening my eyes; "then where is he?" "He is walking up, my lady." "What! all the way from Bishopsthorpe?" cry I, incredulously, thinking of the five miry miles that intervene between us and that station. "Impossible!" "No, my lady, not all the way; only from Mrs. Huntley's."
"How far did you mean me to come, then?" say I, half ashamed of my humors, but still with an after-thought of pettishness in my voice. "Escort you to the hall-door, I suppose, and kick my heels among the laurestines until such time as all Mr. Huntley's bills are paid?" He turns away.
Face, manner, even gait, are all altered, I think of Algy Algy as he used to be, our jovial pet and playfellow, Algy as he now is, soured, sulky, unloving, his very beauty dimmed by discontent and passion. Is this the beginning of a like change in Roger? A spasm of jealous agony, of angry despair, contracts my heart as I think this. "Well, are all Mr. Huntley's debts paid?"
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