because they cannot possess some one particular object; when they rapidly run over the various courses that seem alone open to them, and which embrace enlisting, going to sea, to the dogs, or plunging into a river or canal – at a time when a man is handy with a boat-hook to fish them out.
Mr Chute, then, was not happy, and although he had been asked to go up to the house to partake of some refreshment he would not go, but stalked off into the shrubbery, and gnashed his teeth for a whole minute amongst the rhododendrons, after which he went into a deeper shade where it was all laurels, and as there was no one looking, gave such a stamp upon the ground as hurt his foot in his new boot.
It was in vain that the band, invigorated by Mr William Forth Burge’s beer, was playing its happiest air, and the big drum had run wild, the trombone following suit to such an extent that it was cutting and slashing about in a way that was dangerous to the boys, while the leading comet was leading indeed – half a bar ahead. It was in vain that sweet music sought to woo Mr Chute back to the lawn; for a whole five minutes he would not stir, preferring to suffer in solitude.
But Mr Samuel Chute was after all human, and in spite of himself he found that he was gradually drawn to the drawing-room window. Here he was seen by Mr William Forth Burge, who came out, seized and softened him; and as the schoolmaster was marched in he felt decidedly better, and began to think of condescending to live.
“May I give you some tea, Mr Chute?” said Mrs Canninge politely.
“If you please, ma’am,” said Chute, who felt better still on noting that young Mr George Canninge was not seated at Hazel Thorne’s side.
“Let’s see: we must find you a seat, Mr Chute,” said Mr William Forth Burge heartily, as he glanced round.
“There is room here, Mr Burge,” said Hazel, moving a little farther along the settee, and Mr Chute’s ease was complete, for the tea he drank was the most delicious he had ever tasted in his life, and he could have gone on eating bread-and-butter for an hour.
He said very little, and Hazel Thorne had to make up for it by chatting pleasantly about the proceedings, till a message came by one of the boys, and Mr Chute was fetched away, leaving the new mistress to the tender mercies of the young squire – at least that is how he put it; but he felt as he told himself, quite a new man.
George Canninge came to Hazel’s side as soon as Chute had gone, and stood talking to her quietly, and in a way that would have satisfied the most exacting; but he had been dealing with a sensitive plant. At first she had seemed to rejoice in the warmth of his social sunshine, but Mrs Canninge had metaphorically stretched forth a rude hand and touched her leaves, with the result that they shrank and looked withered; and, try as he would, he found her quiet, distant and constrained.
“But she can be different,” he said to himself as at last Hazel rose, and, crossing to Miss Burge, asked her permission to go.
“Oh lor’, yes, my dear, go when you think best; for you must be terribly tired.”
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