this, we can't ever hope to give him the ordinary
education. Perhaps you could think it over too." No.

"I am sure that things are best for him as they are. The day-school
knocks quite as many corners off him as he can stand. He hates it, but
it is good for him. A public school will not be good for him. It is too
rough. Instead of getting manly and hard, he will--"

"My head, please."

Rickie departed in a state of bewildered misery, which was scarcely ever
to grow clearer.

Each holiday he found his father more irritable, and a little weaker.
Mrs. Elliot was quickly growing old. She had to manage the servants, to
hush the neighbouring children, to answer the correspondence, to paper
and re-paper the rooms--and all for the sake of a man whom she did not
like, and who did not conceal his dislike for her. One day she found
Rickie tearful, and said rather crossly, "Well, what is it this time?"

He replied, "Oh, mummy, I've seen your wrinkles your grey hair--I'm
unhappy."

Sudden tenderness overcame her, and she cried, "My darling, what does it
matter? Whatever does it matter now?"

He had never known her so emotional. Yet even better did he remember
another incident. Hearing high voices from his father's room, he went
upstairs in the hope that the sound of his tread might stop them. Mrs.
Elliot burst open the door, and seeing him, exclaimed, "My dear! If you
please, he's hit me." She tried to laugh it off, but a few hours later
he saw the bruise which the stick of the invalid had raised upon his
mother's hand.

God alone knows how far we are in the grip of our bodies. He alone can
judge how far the cruelty of Mr. Elliot was the outcome of extenuating
circumstances. But Mrs. Elliot could accurately judge of its extent.

At last he died. Rickie was now fifteen, and got off a whole week's
school for the funeral. His mother was rather strange. She was much
happier, she looked younger, and her mourning was as unobtrusive as
convention permitted. All this he had expected. But she seemed to
be watching him, and to be extremely anxious for his opinion on any,
subject--more especially on his father. Why? At last he saw that she was
trying to establish confidence between them. But confidence cannot be
established in a moment. They were both shy. The habit of years was
upon them, and they alluded to the death of Mr. Elliot as an irreparable
loss.

"Now that your father has gone, things will be very different."

"Shall