“A dangerous thought. Crush it.” Mr. Marrapit continued: “Margaret, Mrs. Major, I observe you have concluded”; and when the two had withdrawn addressed himself again to George: “A dangerous thought. You recall our conversation of the day before yesterday?”
“Perfectly.”
“Yet by later trains, by idleness, you deliberately imperil your future?”
George did not answer the question. This was the very opportunity for which he had wished. “I would like to talk about my future,” he said.
“I dare not dwell upon it,” replied Mr. Marrapit.
“I have to. I shall pass all right this time. I want to know—the fact is, sir, I know I have slacked in the past; I am a man now, and I—I regret it. I fully realise my responsibilities. You may rely that I shall make a certainty of the October examination.”
“Commendable,” Mr. Marrapit criticised.
“I want to know what help I may expect when I qualify.”
“I cannot tell you.” Mr. Marrapit threw martyrdom into his tone. “I am so little,” he said, “in your confidence. Your expectations when qualified may be enormous. I am not favoured with them.” He sighed.
George said: “I mean what help I may expect from you.”