“It would be very absurd to make Archie come home again for me,” said Jenny. “And everything else is most happily smoothed for me, you know; Edith has come quite to take my place at home; mamma learnt to depend on her much more than on me while I was with Herbert.”
“And it has made her much more of a woman,” added Herbert.
“Then you know that full statement poor Mr. Moy put forth when he left the place, on his wife’s death, quite removed all lingering hesitation on papa’s part,” added Jenny.
“It ought, I am sure!” said Julius.
“So, now, if Herbert will go out with me, it seems to me to be all right,” said Jenny, colouring deeply, as she made this lame and impotent conclusion.
“My father wishes it,” said Herbert. “I believe he meant to see you to-day to ask leave of absence for me. That is what he wishes; but I have made up my mind that I ought to resign the curacy—where I have never been any use to you—though, if I had been well, I meant to have worked a year with you as a priest.”
“I don’t like to lose you, but I think you are right. Your beginning with me was a mistake. There is not enough work for three of us; but you know Easterby would be delighted to have you at St. Nicholas. He says his most promising people talk of what you said to them when they were ill, and he asked me if you could possibly come to him.”
“I think it would be better to begin in a new place, further from home,” said Herbert, quietly.
And both knew what he meant, and how hard it would be to be the clergyman he had learnt to wish to be, if his mother were at hand to be distressed by all he did or did not do.
“But, any way,” added Herbert, “I hope to have some time longer at Compton before I go. Next Sunday, if I only can.”