“Tuesday—Tuesday, and in good time too. But ain't you lucky, you dog! They 're so hard pressed for messengers, they've got no time to examine you. You are to enter official life par la petite porte, but you get in without knocking.”
“I cannot imagine that the examination would be much of a difficulty,” said Mrs. Trafford.
Tony shook his head in dissent, and gave a sad faint sigh.
“I 'd engage to coach him in a week,” broke in Skeffy. “It was I ground Vyse in Chinese, and taught him that glorious drinking-song, 'Tehin Tehan Ili-Ta!' that he offered to sing before the Commissioners if they could play the accompaniment.”
Leaving Skeffy to revel in his gratifying memories of such literary successes, Alice turned away a few steps with Tony.
“Let us part good friends, Tony,” said she, in a low tone. “You 'll go up to the Abbey, I hope, and wish them a good-bye, won't you?”
“I am half ashamed to go now,” muttered he.
“No, no, Tony; don't fancy that there is any breach in our friendship; and tell me another thing: would you like me to write to you? I know you 're not very fond of writing yourself, but I 'll not be exacting. You shall have two for one,—three, if you deserve it.”
He could not utter a word; his heart felt as if it would burst through his side, and a sense of suffocation almost choked him. He knew, if he tried to speak, that his emotion would break out, and in his pride he would have suffered torture rather than shed a tear.
With a woman's nice tact she saw his confusion, and hastened to relieve it. “The first letter must, however, be from you, Tony. It need be only half a dozen lines, to say if you have passed your examination, what you think of your new career, and where you are going.”