“It is such a pity,” she had said, “for us never to talk of anything but that.  There are so many things I like to talk about, especially the things of which I read.  I am now reading Charles Lamb—­that is, whenever I get a chance—­and I don’t believe anybody in these days ever does read the works of that dear old man.  There is a complete set of his books in the library, and they do not look as if they had ever been opened.  Did you ever read his little essays on Popular Fallacies?  Some of them are just as true as they can be, although they seem like making fun, especially the one about the angry man being always in the wrong.  I am inclined to side with the angry man.  I know I am generally right when I am angry.”

Mr. Hemphill had not read these little essays, nor had he admitted that he had never read anything else by Mr. Lamb; but he had agreed that it was very common to be both angry and right.  Then Olive had talked to him about other books, and his way had become very rough and exceedingly thorny, and he had wished he knew how to bring up the subject of some new figures in the German.  But he had not succeeded in doing this.  She had been in a bookish mood, and the mood had lasted until she had left him.

Now he began to think that it would be better for him to give up wandering and waiting and go into the library and prepare himself for another talk with Olive, but he did not go; she might see him and suspect his design.  He would wait until later.  He took some books to his room.

Dick Lancaster wandered and waited, but he was full of a purpose, although it was not exactly definite; he wanted to find Mrs. Easterfield and ask her to release him from his promise.  He could not remain much longer at Broadstone, and Olive’s morning walk with Hemphill had made him very nervous.  She knew that these young men were in love with her, and he had a right to let her know that he was also.  It might be imprudent for him to do this, but he could not see why it would not be as imprudent at any other time as now.  Moreover, there might come no other time, and he had control of now.

Mrs. Easterfield had not joined her guests because of her anxiety about Olive.  Mr. Easterfield did not appear.  For a time he was very particularly engaged in the garden.  Mr. Fox grew very much irritated.

“I tell you, my dear,” said he, “every one who comes here makes this place more stupid and dull.  I can’t see exactly any reason for it, but these lovers are at the bottom of it.  I hate lovers.”

“You should be very glad, my dear,” replied Mrs. Fox, “that I was not of your opinion in my early life.”

But things changed for the better after a time.  It is true that Mrs. Easterfield and Olive did not appear, but Mr. Easterfield showed himself, and did it with great advantage.  The simple statement that his wife and Miss Asher had gone to make a call caused a feeling of relief to spread over the whole party.  Until the callers returned there was no reason why they should not all enjoy themselves, and Mr. Easterfield was there to show them how to do it.