Looking up she saw her father,
following the winding path through the spinney towards his home.
A grave man was the Rector of Stagholme in his declining years;
hopelessly, wisely pessimistic, with sudden youthful returns of interest
in matters literary and theological. As he came he read a book.
Instantly the expression of Dora's face changed. She rose and went
towards him, smiling contemptuously towards his lowering gravity. He
looked up, gave a little grunt of recognition, and closed his book.
"Father," she said, "I've just heard a piece of news."
"Bad, I suppose."
She laughed.
"Well," she answered, "I suppose we shall survive it. Jem has got his
commission, in a Goorkha regiment."
"Goorkha regiment? Nonsense!"
"Aunt Anna has just told me so. She is very pleased, and seems prepared
for the--best."
"That is the custom of fools, to be prepared for the best--only."
The Rector gave a despairing shrug of the shoulders. He was a man who
allowed himself, after the manner of the ancients with whom he lived
mentally, a few gestures.
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