He made up his mind, as he thought, that he would not marry again; but this, he knew in his secret heart, was less for her sake than for his own.
Then, being of an ardently affectionate nature, and having now no one to restrain it, he began to study his children with more anxious care, and consider their well-being with all his might.
The children of middle-aged people seem occasionally to come into the world ready tamed.

With a certain old-fashioned primness, they step sedately through the paths of childhood.

So good, so easy to manage, so--uninteresting?
The children of the very young have sometimes an extra allowance of their father's youth in their blood.

At any rate the little Mortimers had.
Their joy was ecstatic, their play was fervent, and as hard as any work.
They seemed month by month to be crowding up to their father, in point of stature, and when he and they all went about the garden together, some would be treading on his heels, the select two who had hold of his arms would be shouting in his ears, and the others, dancing in front, were generally treading on his toes, in their desire to get as near as possible and inform him of all the wonderful things that were taking place in this new and remarkable world.
Into this family the lonely little heir of the Melcombes was shortly invited to come for awhile, but for some trivial reason his mother declined the invitation, at the same time expressing her hope that Mr.
Mortimer would kindly renew it some other time.
It was not convenient to John Mortimer to invite the boy again for a long time--so long that his mother bitterly repented not having accepted the first invitation.

She had an aunt living at Dartmouth, and whenever her boy was invited by John Mortimer, she meant to bring him herself, giving out that she was on her way to visit that relative.
Who knew what might happen?
Mr.John Mortimer was a fine man, tall, broad-shouldered, and substantial-looking, though not at all stout.