"Is he ill?" said she; "do tell me at once."
"Ill! no; he's not ill."
"Well, what is it? He has not lost his degree?"
"He has not been plucked, papa, has he?" said Sophia.
"Oh, no; he has got his degree—a second in classics!—that's all;" and he threw the letter over to his wife as he went on buttering his toast.
"He'll be home on Tuesday," said Mary, the eldest girl, looking over her mother's shoulder.
"And so George is a double-first," said Mrs. Wilkinson.
"Yes," said the vicar, with his mouth full of toast; not evincing any great satisfaction at the success of his late pupil.
When the mother read the short postscript her heart was touched, and she put her handkerchief up to her face.
"Poor Arthur! I am sure it has not been his own fault."