A Lifes Morning | Page 7

might call on one or two other people.'
Having decided this point, she found herself able to crack the egg. The
anticipation of her day in London made her quite gay throughout the
meal.
The carriage was at the door by ten o'clock, to drive to Dealing, the
nearest station, some four miles away. The twins had gone upstairs
with Miss Hood to their lessons, and Wilfrid was sauntering about the
hall. His father paused by him on the way to the carriage.
'What do you propose to do with yourself, Wilf?' lie asked.
'Ride, I think.'
'Do. Go over to Hilstead and lunch there. Capital lunch they give you at
the inn; the last time I was there they cooked me one of the best chops I
ever ate. Oberon wants exercise; make a day of it.'
'Very well.'
'You're not looking quite so well, I'm afraid,' remarked his father, with
genuine solicitude in his tone. 'Haven't been reading, have you?'

'No.'
'No imprudences, mind. I must stop that porridge regimen; it doesn't
suit you. Ready, Edith?' he shouted heartily at the foot of the stairs.
Mrs. Rossall came down, buttoning her gloves.
'If I were you, Wilf,' she said, 'I'd go off somewhere for the day. The
twins will only worry you.'
Wilfrid laughed.
'I am going to eat unexampled chops at the "Waggoner" in Hilstead,' he
replied.
'That's right. Good-bye, my dear boy. I wish you'd get fatter.'
'Pooh, I'm all right.'
The landau rolled away. Wilfrid still loitered in the hall, a singular look
of doubt on his face. In a room above one of the twins was having a
music lesson; a certain finger-exercise was being drummed with
persistent endeavour at accuracy.
'How can she bear that morning after morning?' the young man
murmured to himself.
He took his straw hat and went round to the stables. Oberon was being
groomed. Wilfrid patted the horse's sleek neck, and talked a little with
the man. At length he made up his mind to go and prepare for riding;
Oberon would be ready for him in a few minutes.
In the porch Patty ran to meet him.
'Truant!' Wilfrid exclaimed. 'Have I caught you in the act of escape?'
'I was going to look for you,' said the child, putting her arm through his
and swinging upon him. 'We want to know if you'll be back for lunch.'
'Who wants to know?'
'I and Minnie and Miss Hood.'
'Oh, you are Patty, then, are you?'
This was an old form of joke. The child shook her dark curls with a
half-annoyed gesture, but still swung on her cousin as he moved into
the house. Wilfrid passed his arm about her playfully.
'Can't you make up your mind, Wilf?' she asked.
'Oh yes, my mind is quite made up,' he replied, with a laugh.
'And won't you tell me?'
'Tell you? Ah, about lunch. No, I shall not be back.'
'You won't? Oh, I am sorry.'
'Why are you sorry, indistinguishable little maiden?' he asked, drawing

out one of her curls between his fingers, and letting it spring back again
into its circling beauty.
'We thought it would be so nice, we four at lunch.'
'I am warned to avoid you. The tone of conversation would try my
weak head; I am not capable yet of intellectual effort.'
The little girl looked at him with puzzled eyes.
'Well, it can't be helped,' she said. 'I must go back to my lessons.'
She ran off, and Wilfrid went up to his dressing-room. When he came
down, Oberon was pawing the gravel before the door. He mounted and
rode away.
His spirits, which at first seemed to suffer some depression, took vigour
once more from the air of the downs. He put Oberon at a leap or two,
then let the breeze sing in his ears as he was borne at a gallop over the
summer land, golden with sunlight. In spite of his still worn look,
health was manifest in the upright vigour of his form, and in his eyes
gleamed the untroubled joy of existence. Hope just now was strong
within him, a hope defined and pointing to an end attainable; he knew
that henceforth the many bounding and voiceful streams of his life
would unite in one strong flow onward to a region of orient glory
which shone before him as the bourne hitherto but dimly imagined. On,
Oberon, on! No speed that would not lag behind the fore-flight of a
heart's desire. Let the stretch of green-shadowing woodland sweep by
like a dream; let the fair, sweet meadow-sides smile for a moment and
vanish; let the dark hill-summits rise and sink. It is the time of youth
and hope, of boundless faith in the world's promises, of breathless