It was but an ordinary act of politeness in Stephen; it had hardly taken two minutes; and Lucy, who was singing, scarcely noticed it.But to Philip's mind, filled already with a vague anxiety that was likely to find a definite ground for itself in any trivial incident, this sudden eagerness in Stephen, and the change in Maggie's face, which was plainly reflecting a beam from his, seemed so strong a contrast with the previous overwrought signs of indifference as to be charged with painful meaning.Stephen's voice, pouring in again, jarred upon his nervous susceptibility as if it had been the clang of sheet iron, and he felt inclined to make the piano shriek in utter discord.He had really seen no communicable ground for suspecting any unusual feeling between Stephen and Maggie - his own reason told him so, and he wanted to go home at once that he might reflect coolly on these false images till he had convinced himself of their nullity.But then again, he wanted to stay as long as Stephen stayed - always to be present when Stephen was present with Maggie.It seemed to poor Philip so natural - nay, inevitable that any man who was near Maggie should fall in love with her! And there was no promise of happiness for her if she were beguiled into loving Stephen Guest: the thought emboldened Philip to view his own love for her in the light of a less unequal offering.He was beginning to play very falsely under this deafening inward tumult, and Lucy was looking at him in astonishment, when Mrs Tulliver's entrance to summon them to lunch, came as an excuse for abruptly breaking off the music.
`Ah, Mr Philip,' said Mr Deane, when they entered the dining-room, `I've not seen you for a long while.Your father's not at home, I think, is he?
I went after him to the office, the other day, and they said he was out of town.'
`He's been to Mudport on business for several days,' said Philip, `but he's come back now.'
`As fond of his farming hobby as ever, eh?'
`I believe so,' said Philip, rather wondering at this sudden interest in his father's pursuits.
`Ah!' said Mr Deane, `he's got some land in his own hands on this side the river as well as the other, I think?'
`Yes, he has.'
`Ah!' continued Mr Deane, as he dispensed the pigeon pie, `he must find farming a heavy item - an expensive hobby.I never had a hobby myself -never would give in to that.And the worst of all hobbies are those that people think they can get money at.They shoot their money down like corn out of a sack then.'
Lucy felt a little nervous under her father's apparently gratuitous criticism of Mr Wakem's expenditure.But it ceased there, and Mr Deane became unusually silent and meditative during his luncheon.Lucy, accustomed to watch all indications in her father, and having reasons, which had recently become strong, for an extra interest in what referred to the Wakems, felt an unusual curiosity to know what had prompted her father's questions.
His subsequent silence made her suspect there had been some special reason for them in his mind.
With this idea in her head, she resorted to her usual plan when she wanted to tell or ask her father anything particular: she found a reason for her aunt Tulliver to leave the dining-room after dinner, and seated herself on a small stool at her father's knee.Mr Deane, under those circumstances, considered that he tasted some of the most agreeable moments his merits had purchased him in life, notwithstanding that Lucy, disliking to have her hair powdered with snuff, usually began by mastering his snuff-box on such occasions.
