Albinia had reckoned on a rational Lucy until the Oxford term should be over.  She might have anticipated a failure in the responsions, (who, in connexion with the Polysyllable, could mention being plucked for the little-go?) but it was more than she did expect that his rejection would send him home in sullen resentment resolved to punish Oxford by the withdrawal of his august name.  He had been quizzed by the young, reprimanded by the old, plucked by the middle-aged, and he returned with his mouth, full of sentences against blind, benighted bigotry, and the futility of classical study, and of declamations, as an injured orphan, against his uncle’s disregard of the intentions of his dear deceased parent, in keeping him from Bonn, Jena, Heidelberg, or any other of the outlandish universities whose guttural names he showered on the meek Vicar’s desponding head.

He was twenty-one, and could not be sent whither he would not go.  His uncle’s resource was Mr. Kendal, who strongly hoped that the link was about to snap, when, summoning the gentleman to the library, he gave him to understand that he should consider a refusal to resume his studies as tantamount to a dissolution of the engagement.  A long speech ensued about dear mothers, amiable daughters, classics, languages, and foreign tours.  That was all the account Mr. Kendal could give his wife of the dialogue, and she could only infer that Algernon’s harangue had sent him into such a fit of abstraction, that he really could not tell the drift of it.  However, he was clear that he had himself given no alternative between returning to Oxford and resigning Lucy.

That same evening, Lucy, all blushes and tears, faltered out that she was very unwilling, she could not bear to leave them all, nor dear grandmamma, but dear Algernon had prevailed on her to say next August!

When indignant astonishment permitted Albinia to speak, she reminded Lucy that a respectable career at Oxford had been the condition.

‘I know,’ said Lucy, ’but dear Algernon convinced papa of the unreasonableness of such a stipulation under the circumstances.’

Albinia felt the ground cut away under her feet, and all she could attempt was a dry answer.  ’We shall see what papa says; but you, Lucy, how can you think of marrying with your grandmamma in this state, and Gilbert in that camp of cholera—­’

‘I told Algernon it was not to be thought of,’ said Lucy, her tears flowing fast.  But I don’t know what to do, no one can tell how long it may go on, and we have no right to trifle with his feelings.’

‘If he had any feelings for you, he would not ask it.’

‘No, mamma, indeed!’ cried Lucy, earnestly; ’it was his feeling for me; he said I was looking quite languid and emaciated, and that he could not allow my—­good looks and vivacity to be diminished by my attendance in a sick chamber.  I told him never to mind, for it did not hurt me; but he said it was incumbent on him to take thought for me, and that he could not present me to his friends if I were not in full bloom of beauty; yes, indeed, he said so; and then he said it would be the right season for Italy.’