There was evidently some connection between Walter and the holly-berries, for Lizzie threw them away at once when she saw Sophy’s tears. Soon we came to a stile which led to an open breezy common, half-covered with gorse. I helped the little girls over it, and set them to run down the slope; but I took Sophy’s arm in mine, and though I could not speak, I think she knew how I was feeling for her. I could hardly bear to bid her good-by at the vicarage-gate; it seemed as if I ought to go in and spend the day with her.

Chapter XI

‘I VENTED MY ill-humour in being late for the Bullocks’ dinner. There were one or two clerks, towards whom Mr Bullock was patronising and pressing. Mrs Bullock was decked out in extraordinary finery. Miss Bullock looked plainer than ever; but she had on some old gown or other, I think, for I heard Mrs Bullock tell her she was always making a figure of herself. I began to-day to suspect that the mother would not be sorry if I took a fancy to the step-daughter. I was again placed near her at dinner, and when the little ones came in to dessert, I was made to notice how fond of children she was, and indeed when one of them nestled to her, her face did brighten; but the moment she caught this loud-whispered remark, the gloom came back again, with something even of anger in her look; and she was quite sullen and obstinate when urged to sing in the drawing-room. Mrs Bullock turned to me –

‘“Some young ladies won’t sing unless they are asked by gentlemen.” She spoke very crossly. “If you ask Jemima, she will probably sing. To oblige me, it is evident she will not.”

‘I thought the singing, when we got it, would probably be a great bore; however I did as I was bid, and went with my request to the young lady, who was sitting a little apart. She looked up at me with eyes full of tears, and said, in a decided tone (which, if I had not seen her eyes, I should have said was as cross as her mamma’s), “No, sir, I will not.” She got up, and left the room. I expected to hear Mrs Bullock abuse her for her obstinacy. Instead of that, she began to tell me of the money that had been spent on her education; of what each separate accomplishment had cost. “She was timid,” she said, “but very musical. Wherever her future home might be, there would be no want of music.” She went on praising her till I hated her. If they thought I was going to marry that great lubberly girl, they were mistaken. Mr Bullock and the clerks came up. He brought out Liebig, and called to me.

‘“I can understand a good deal of this agricultural chemistry,” said he, “and have put it in practice – without much success, hitherto, I confess. But these unconnected letters puzzle me a little. I suppose they have some meaning, or else I should say it was mere book-making to put them in.”

‘“I think they give the page a very ragged appearance,” said Mrs Bullock, who had joined us. “I inherit a little of my late father’s taste for books, and must say I like to see a good type, a broad margin, and an elegant binding. My father despised variety; how he would have held up his hands aghast at the cheap literature of these times! He did not require many books, but he would have twenty editions of those that he had; and he paid more for binding than he did for the books themselves. But elegance was everything with him. He would not have admitted your Liebig, Mr Bullock; neither the nature of the subject, nor the common type, nor the common way in which your book is got up, would have suited him.”

‘“Go and make tea, my dear, and leave Mr Harrison and me to talk over a few of these manures.”

‘We settled to it; I explained the meaning of the symbols, and the doctrine of chemical equivalents. At last he said, “Doctor! you’re giving me too strong a dose of it at one time. Let’s have a small quantity taken ‘hodie;’ that’s professional, as Mr Morgan would call it. Come in and call when you have leisure, and give me a lesson in my alphabet. Of all you’ve been telling me I can only remember that C means carbon and O oxygen; and I see one must know the meaning of all these confounded letters before one can do much good with Liebig.”

‘“We dine at three,” said Mrs Bullock.