“Having thus given you one of my tasks,” said that gentleman, “let me ask whether I can help you in any of your studies?”
“I have been reading with Bobus, thank you.”
“And now?”
“I have not begun again, though, if my mother desires it, I shall.”
“So I should suppose; but I am sorry you do not take more interest in the matter.”
“Even if I live,” said Armine, “the hopes with which I once studied are over.”
“What hopes?”
The boy was drawn on by his sympathy to explain his plans for the perfection of church and charities at Woodside, where he would have worked as curate, and lavished all that wealth could supply in all institutions for its good and that of Kenminster. It was the vanished castle over which he and Miss Parsons had spent so many moans, and yet at the end of it all, Armine saw a sort of incredulous smile on his friend’s face.
“I don’t think it was impossible or unreasonable,” he said. “I could have been ordained as curate there, and my mother would have gladly given land, and means, and all.”
“I was not thinking of that, my boy. What struck me was how people put their trust in riches without knowing it.”