A Lifes Morning | Page 6

a stout respect
for British social institutions; affecting to be above vulgar prejudices,
he was in reality much prepossessed in favour of hereditary position,
and as time went on did occasionally half wish that the love he had
bestowed on his Italian wife had been given to some English lady of
'good' family. He was liberal, frank, amiably autocratic in his home, apt
to be peppery with inferiors who missed the line of perfect respect,
candid and reasonable with equals or superiors. For his boy he reserved
a store of manly affection, seldom expressing itself save in bluff
fashion; his sister he patronised with much kindness, though he
despised her judgment. One had now and then a feeling that his
material circumstances aided greatly in making him the genial man he
was, that with beef and claret of inferior quality he might not have been
altogether so easy to get along with. But that again was an illustration
of the English character.
We find the family assembling for breakfast at The Firs one delightful
morning at the end of July. The windows of the room were thrown

open, and there streamed in with the sunlight fresh and delicious odours,
tonics alike of mind and body. From the Scotch firs whence the
dwelling took its name came a scent which mingled with wafted breath
from the remoter heather, and the creepers about the house-front, the
lovely bloom and leafage skirting the lawn, contributed to the
atmosphere of health and joy. It was nine o'clock. The urn was on the
gleaming table, the bell was sounding, Mr. Athel stepped in straight
from the lawn, fresh after his ten minutes' walk about the garden.
Wilfrid Athel appeared at the same moment; he was
dark-complexioned and had black, glossy hair; his cheeks were
hollower than they should have been, but he had not the aspect of an
invalid. Mrs. Rossall glided into the room behind him, fresh, fair,
undemonstrative. Then came the twins, by name Patty and Minnie,
delicate, with promise of their mother's English style of beauty; it was
very hard to distinguish them, their uncle had honestly given up the
pretence long ago, and occasionally remonstrated with his sister on the
absurdity of dressing them exactly alike. The last to enter the room was
the governess, Miss Emily Hood.
Mr. Athel, having pronounced a grace, mentioned that he thought of
running up to town; did anybody wish to give him a commission? Mrs.
Rossall looked thoughtful, and said she would make a note of two or
three things.
'I haven't much faith in that porridge regimen, Wilf,' remarked the
master of the house, as he helped himself to chicken and tongue. 'We
are not Highlanders. It's dangerous to make diet too much a matter of
theory. Your example is infectious; first the twins; now Miss Hood.
Edith, do you propose to become a pervert to porridge?'
'I have no taste for it,' replied his sister, who had become
absent-minded.
'There's a certain dishonesty about it, moreover,' Mr. Athel pursued.
'Porridge should be eaten with salt. Milk and sugar--didn't I hear a
suggestion of golden syrup, more honestly called treacle, yesterday?
These things constitute evasion, self-deception at the least. In your case,
Miss Hood, the regimen is clearly fruitful of ill results.'
'Of what kind, Mr. Athel?'
'Obviously it leads to diminution of appetite. You were in the habit of
eating a satisfactory breakfast; at present some two ounces of that

farinaceous mess--'
'My dear Philip!' interposed Mrs. Rossall, still absently.
I hold that I am within my rights,' asserted her brother. 'If Miss Hood
goes down into Yorkshire in a state of emaciation--'
Wilfrid and the twins showed amusement.
'To begin with,' pursued Mr. Athel, 'I hold that sweet food the first
thing in the morning is a mistake; the appetite is checked in an artificial
way, and impaired. Even coffee--'
'You would recommend a return to flagons of ale?' suggested Wilfrid.
'I am not sure that it wasn't better dietetically.'
Mrs. Rossall had taken an egg, but, after fruitlessly chipping at the shell
throughout this conversation, put down her spoon and appeared to
abandon the effort to commence her meal. Presently she broke silence,
speaking with some diffidence.
'I really think I will go to town with you, Philip,' she said. 'I want some
things you can't very well get me, and then I ought to go and see the
Redwings. I might persuade Beatrice to come to us for a day or two.'
'Do so by all means. You're quite sure,' he added with a smile, 'that I
couldn't save you the trouble of the journey? I have no objection to
visiting the Redwings.'
'I think it will be better if I go myself,' replied Mrs. Rossall, with a
far-off look. 'I