“Is it really?” repeated Blanche. “Oh, dear! is Norman going to be married? I wish it was to be Meta Rivers, for then I could always ride her dear little white pony.”
“Tell them,” whispered Norman, a good deal out of countenance, as he leaned over Ethel, and quitted the room.
Ethel cried, “Now then!” and looked at her father, while Blanche and Mary reiterated inquiries—marriage, and going to sea, being the only events that, in their imagination, the world could furnish. Going to try for a Balliol scholarship! It was a sad falling off, even if they understood what it meant. The doctor’s explanations to Margaret had a tone of apology for having kept her in ignorance, and Flora said few words, but felt herself injured; she had nearly gone to Mrs. Hoxton that afternoon, and how strange it would have been if anything had been said to her of her own brother’s projects, when she was in ignorance.
Ethel slipped away to her brother, who was in his own room, surrounded with books, flushed and anxious, and trying to glance over each subject on which he felt himself weak.
“I shall fail! I know I shall!” was his exclamation. “I wish I had never thought of it!”
“What? did Dr. Hoxton think you not likely to succeed?” cried Ethel, in consternation.
“Oh! he said I was certain, but what is that? We Stoneborough men only compare ourselves with each other. I shall break down to a certainty, and my father will be disappointed.”
“You will do your best?”
“I don’t know that. My best will all go away when it comes to the point.”
“Surely not. It did not go away last time you were examined, and why should it now?”