And so in comparative early middle age he found himself the recipient of a knighthood; that is, he received a title very similar to “Sir”—and for simplicity we will call it such. Some spiteful people said this was on account of his good looks, but as it was a man sovereign who gave him the title, it’s hard to see what that could have to do with it. Now, Sir John himself had little belief in titles, but his sister had great belief in him, and though herself the simplest of plain women, she had ambitions so far as he was concerned.
“A title’s an empty thing,” said he, looking at her in his serious, thoughtful way.
“No one knows it better than I,” she answered, in her downright one. “And if you hadn’t the real thing to outshine it, I’d hate to see it offered to you. But it’s a courtesy you owe to the world in return for its courtesy. If you don’t accept it, you are churlish. Besides, I always think it’s the greatest honour that can befal a sovereign, to confer distinction upon genius, so that, even on a royal consideration, I think you ought to accept.”
And so plain John Crokerly became Sir John, and was just the same before and after—neither more or less brilliant or imposing.
From being poor he became rich. He never married, but continued happily in the society of his one unmarried sister. The affection and understanding were very mutual, and perfectly to the contentment of both.
On this particular night Miss Crokerly entered her brother’s presence with some trepidation. After all, she had a reputation for common sense, though, like him, maybe a little eccentric, and the brightness of the frog and the prettiness of Rosalie’s face hardly seemed pretext enough on second thoughts for inviting her into the house.
“John,” said she, betraying no misgiving in her voice, as she closed the door, “I’ve invited a young girl from the country, who is lost, to come in and shelter for the night.”
“What’s her name?” and he looked up over the top of the paper which he was reading, for daylight was precious just then, and morning meals too hasty to allow of much newspaper indulgence during them.
“I don’t know; she is a perfect stranger to me. I came to see if you approved.”
“It won’t matter to me. I shan’t see her,” he answered.