"You are under the usual age, and, though I know you wish to be a good boy, yet I don't feel sure that these wild spirits do not carry away everything serious, and whether it is right to bring one so thoughtless to--" "No, no," and Harry cried bitterly, and his father was deeply grieved; but no more could then be said, and they parted for the night--Dr.May saying, as he went away, "You understand, that it is not as punishment for your trick, if I do not take you to Mr.Ramsden for a ticket, but that I cannot be certain whether it is right to bring you to such solemn privileges while you do not seem to me to retain steadily any grave or deep feelings.

Perhaps your mother would have better helped you." And Dr.May went away to mourn over what he viewed as far greater sins than those of his son.
Anger had, indeed, given place to sorrow, and all were grave the next morning, as if each had something to be forgiven.
Margaret, especially, felt guilty of the fears which, perhaps, had not been sufficiently combated in her days of health, and now were beyond control, and had occasioned so much pain.

Ethel grieved over the words she had yesterday spoken in haste of her father and sister; Mary knew herself to have been an accomplice in the joke; and Norman blamed himself for not having taken the trouble to perceive that Harry had not been talking rhodomontade, when he had communicated "his capital scheme" the previous morning.
The decision as to the Confirmation was a great grief to all.

Flora consoled herself by observing that, as he was so young, no one need know it, nor miss him; and Ethel, with a trembling, almost sobbing voice, enumerated all Harry's excellences, his perfect truth, his kindness, his generosity, his flashes of intense feeling--declared that nobody might be confirmed if he were not, and begged and entreated that Mr.Wilmot might be written to, and consulted.

She would almost have done so herself, if Richard had not shown her it would be undutiful.
Harry himself was really subdued.