“My dear, we did not intend to give it,” said Mr. Fletcher, who had lent his inheritance, and failed to recover it.
“No. And so we had all the giving and no gratitude. That would not suit Lydia.”
“You know,” said Emily, “I hate to say it, but I believe it would not suit her as badly as most of us. But very badly, I hope, of course.”
“It did not suit us, did it, Theresa?” said Mr. Fletcher. “I fear we murmured. I fear we did.”
“How conceited you are! Of course you did,” said Emily. “I wonder if Lydia would not have spoken about it. If so, what a good thing she did not lose it! We should have had to admire her.”
“It is a good idea to leave debts unpaid when you die,” said Theresa.
“Very good. I will tell Nicholas about it,” said Emily. “He very likely has not thought of it. He is really much more honest than people think. And he does not think he is going to die. And of course he is not.”
“My dear, he felt it more than we did,” said Mr. Fletcher to his wife. “And we have been a happy old pair without it. Though I don’t know why I should call myself old, except that I like to be coupled with you, my dear.”
“I do wish I were not a spinster,” said Emily. “I retract all I have said.”
“Of course, Lydia flirts with her men,” said Theresa. “She may not know it, but she does.”
“I wish I could do difficult things without knowing it,” said Emily. “I always know, when I do them, so clearly and conceitedly.”
“Well, that kind of thing must be at the bottom of most things,” said Mr. Fletcher. “It may as well be put to a good purpose, whether or not people know it.”
“Peter, you really are rather like other people sometimes,” said Emily, “though I don’t like to belittle you before Theresa.”
“Emily, you are sometimes severe,” said Mr. Fletcher.
“And that is like other people, isn’t it?” said Emily. “But why should you want not to be like other people, when you are a good man?”
“I do not want it,” said Mr. Fletcher.
“Then why am I severe?” said Emily. “But you are right not to let us speak wickedly about Lydia. It must be terrible to do good.”
IV
“Now, I don’t know how it is,” said Mr. Merry, “but you all look half-dressed, and in a state of slovenliness, somehow. I can’t understand how it is that my boys cannot manage to look like gentlemen. Now, whatever is it so scrappy and untidy about you all?”
“We are to dress again, sir, presently,” said a boy; “before the prize-giving!”
“Dress again, presently, before the prize-giving! Dress again, presently, before the prize-giving! Dress again presently! And so it is not worth while to come down looking like gentlemen, though there are five or six hours before the prize-giving begins! Have any of you washed this morning, pray? Have you washed, Johnson? Have any of you said your prayers? Or have you put them off, till you shall be in church in four days’ time? I have never heard of such a thing.”
“Miss Basden told us to—to do those things, and then not very much. We are to change all our things again presently. Miss Basden said—”
“Miss Basden said! Miss Basden said! You are a lot of boys to require a lady to come and say that kind of thing to you! Have you no gentlemanly sense of decency? Have you no self-respect? Have you no … ? Oh, I have no patience to talk to you. I cannot understand it. I cannot. When I was your age … But get to your books, and let me hear no more of this dressing again presently because of the prize-giving. I cannot put up with it.”
A maid appeared with a request from Mrs. Merry, that the boys would go down to breakfast directly they heard the gong, as there was no time to spare that morning.
“Yes! Oh; what, Fanny? Directly they hear the gong? Thank you, Fanny, very much. Boys, you go down to breakfast directly you hear the gong. So don’t stay behind to finish what you are doing; and to let me go out first, as I am forty years older than you, and your schoolmaster. I suppose Mother thought you would miss out hearing the gong this morning, as you have missed out most other things. And there is the gong! So rush down; and go stampeding like a herd of tatterdemalions who have never been to school, instead of gentlemen spending their lives in one.”
Mrs. Merry was sitting before an empty tray, looking as if she had given up hope, except in smoothing her hair and glancing at the clock.
“Now, Mother, now, it’s all right, Mother,” said Mr. Merry, in an almost imploring tone. “You are managing it all as well as it can possibly be managed. You know you are, Mother.”
“But it is not all right, dear. The cups cannot be done without. The boys have to have their breakfast as usual,” said Mrs. Merry, almost implying that it would be only reasonable to waive this material start to the day.
“Oh, yes; ring the bell, Johnson,” said Mr. Merry, avoiding looking at his wife. “Ring the bell, Johnson, will you, please? Thank you, Johnson, very much. Oh, Miss Basden, good morning, Miss Basden. We were getting to feel all of a muddle without you.”
“You will have to feel all of a muddle again, very soon, then, I am afraid, Mr. Merry. I have come in only to rush away again. Oh, the cups! I could not be there for once. No, Mrs. Merry, I insist upon your not getting up. Mr. Merry, will you please forbid Mrs. Merry to rise?”
“Boys, go out and get your own cups for your own breakfast! Get up, and wait upon yourselves. When I was a
