"Nothing I have done wrong, I hope, sir. There's nothing I know of,—there really isn't."
"There is nothing wrong whatever, Jack, of that kind." The Vicar laid a little stress upon the word "that."
He hoped Jack might ask a leading question, by saying, "What kind?" but again Jack failed to carry out his expectations.
"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so, sir, for I did feel afraid, when I saw you so grave. Nor nothing to do with Jessie, I hope?"
"No, not Jessie."
"That's righter still. If one of us was to vex you, I'd sooner it should be me than Jessie. She's a good girl, though, isn't she, sir? And she'll make a good wife. To see her working away now at those dresses,—and doing it all as clever as can be. Why, she's making quite a pretty penny; and that's enough to make me all the more impatient to get away and be doing for myself. You see, father doesn't really need me at home. Mother and Mimy can give him all the help he wants. It isn't as if he was an old man. He's in hale middle age still, and he may live another twenty years, for all we know. I hope he will, too. But it wouldn't do for me to stay on in Old Maxham all that time. I've got to make a home for Jessie and me."
The Vicar almost groaned aloud. "Jack, don't go on so."
"Did I say anything wrong, sir?" Jack's tone showed surprise. "I thought you'd be one to approve. You have said many a time that you wished men would look forward, and prepare a little, and not marry all in a hurry."
"Jack—I've something to say to you."
"Yes, sir. I'd be glad to have any sort of advice. Mother said she hoped you would advise me."