"Renny must be spoken to," said Nicholas. He spoke to Renny.
"It's very bad for my mother, to know that she is being constantly prayed for. I must ask you to put a stop to it."
"The hell I will!" rejoined Renny. "It can't hurt her to know that Wake is praying for her. It tickles her to death."
"That's exactly the danger," put in Ernest, lugubriously. "At her age it might tickle her to death. She's too old to be prayed for."
"Ha, ha, ha!" shouted Renny.
Nicholas and Ernest came to the conclusion that Meg and Renny were putting the child up to it. Wakefield's face continued to be a mask of piety, but there was a secret little smile on his lips.
Finch, scarcely noticed by the family once their rejoicing over his return had subsided, was only an observer of this drama. Tension was relaxed for him, not increased. The strain of his examinations was over. He had passed. Not gloriously—he had come near the tail end of the candidates—but passed, nevertheless. It was as though an aching tooth were drawn. He could look at his dog-eared textbooks without a sinking at the heart.
It was beautiful to him to spend these hot summer days in the country. He imagined with horror what they must be in New York. Yet there were moments when he remembered with a strange regret the lights in the harbour at night, the interesting foreign faces one met in the streets, the kindness that had been shown him at Cory and Parsons'. He would wonder vaguely if he had missed something by coming home with Uncle Ernest, something he could never have again—a chance to get on in the world, to be respected instead of sneered at or just tolerated. But this was home, and here was music. Twice a week he went to the city and had music lessons. Two hours daily he was allowed to practise on the old square piano in the drawing-room. It was not enough, and he would have made up the deficiency by some extra practice on the piano at Vaughanlands
