“Nellie—­Nellie!” exclaimed Mrs. Goddard, “do not talk nonsense.  It is very rude to say Mr. Short would look ridiculous.”

“I didn’t mean to be rude, mamma,” returned Nellie, blushing scarlet and pouting her lips, “only it would be very funny, wouldn’t it?”

“I daresay it would,” said John, relieved by the interruption.  “I wish you would advise me what to do, Mrs. Goddard,” he added in a confidential tone.

“I?” she exclaimed, and then laughed.  “How should I be able to advise you?”

“I am sure you could,” said John, insisting.  “You have such wonderfully good judgment—­”

“Have I?  I did not know it.  But, tell me, if you come out very high are you not sure of getting a fellowship?”

“It is likely,” answered John indifferently.  “But I should have to give it up if I married—­”

“Surely, Mr. Short,” cried Mrs. Goddard, with a laugh that cut him to the quick, “you do not think of marrying for many years to come?”

“Oh—­I don’t know,” he said, blushing violently, “why should not I?”

“In the first place, a man should never marry until he is at least five and twenty years old,” said Mrs. Goddard, calmly.

“Well—­I may be as old as that before I get the fellowship.”

“Yes, I daresay.  But even then, why should you want to resign a handsome independence as soon as you have got it?  Is there anything else so good within your reach?”

“There is the church, of course,” said John.  “But Miss Nellie seems to think that ridiculous—­”

“Never mind Nellie,” answered Mrs. Goddard.  “Seriously, Mr. Short, do you approve of entering the church merely as a profession, a means of earning money?”

“Well—­no—­I did not put it in that way.  But many people do.”

“That does not prove that it is either wise or decent,” said Mrs. Goddard.  “If you felt impelled to take orders from other motives, it would be different.  As I understand you, you are choosing a profession for the sake of becoming independent.”

“Certainly,” said John.

“Well, then, there is nothing better for you to do than to get a fellowship and hold it as long as you can, and during that time you can make up your mind.”  She spoke with conviction, and the plan seemed good.  “But I cannot imagine,” she continued, “why you should ask my advice.”

“And not to marry?” inquired John nervously.

“There is plenty of time to think of that when you are thirty—­even five and thirty is not too late.”

“Dear me!” exclaimed John, “I think that is much too old!”

“Do you call me old?” asked Mrs. Goddard serenely.  “I was thirty-one on my last birthday.”

For the twentieth time, John felt himself growing uncomfortably hot.  Not only had he said an unconscionably stupid thing, but Mrs. Goddard, after advising him not to marry for ten years, had almost hinted that she might meanwhile be married herself.  What else could she mean by the remark?  But John was hardly a responsible being on that day.  His views of life and his understanding were equally disturbed.