“I don’t believe it,” said the vicar,
“and if they have, why it has been very different,
that is all. Besides, you have not known Mrs.
Goddard a week—positively not more than
five days—why, it is madness! Do you
mean to tell me that at the end of five days you believe
you are seriously attached to a lady you never saw
in your life before?”
“I saw her once,” said John. “That
day when I waked Muggins—”
“Once! Nearly three years ago! I have
no patience with you, John! That a young fellow
of your capabilities should give way to such a boyish
fancy! It is absolutely amazing! I thought
you were growing to like her society very much, but
I did not believe it would, come to this!”
“It is nothing to be ashamed of,” said
John stoutly.
“It is something to be afraid of,” answered
the vicar.
“Oh, do not be alarmed,” retorted John.
“I will do nothing rash. You have set my
mind at rest in assuring me that she will not marry
Mr. Juxon. I shall not think of offering myself
to Mrs. Goddard until after the Tripos.”
“Offering myself”—how deliciously
important the expression sounded to John’s own
ears! It conveyed such a delightful sense of the
possibilities of life when at last he should feel
that he was in a position to offer himself to any
woman, especially to Mrs. Goddard.
“I have a great mind not to ask you to come
down, even if you do turn out senior classic,”
said the vicar, still fuming with excitement.
“But if you put off your rash action until then,
you will probably have changed your mind.”
“I will never change my mind,” said John
confidently. It was evident, nevertheless, that
if the romance of his life were left to the tender
mercies of the Reverend Augustin Ambrose, it was likely
to come to an abrupt termination. When the two
returned to the society of Mrs. Ambrose, the vicar
was still very much agitated and John was plunged in
a gloomy melancholy.
The vicar’s suspicions were more than realized
and he passed an uncomfortable day after his interview
with John, in debating what he ought to do, whether
he ought to do anything at all, or whether he should
merely hasten his old pupil’s departure and leave
matters to take care of themselves. He was a
very conscientious man, and he felt that he was responsible
for John’s conduct towards Mrs. Goddard, seeing
that she had put herself under his protection, and
that John was almost like one of his family.
His first impulse was to ask counsel of his wife, but
he rejected the plan, reflecting with great justice
that she was very fond of John and had at first not
been sure of liking Mrs. Goddard; she would be capable
of thinking that the latter had “led Short on,”
as she would probably say. The vicar did not
believe this, and was therefore loath that any one
else should. He felt that circumstances had made
him Mrs. Goddard’s protector, and he was moreover
