“Shall we stroll across the fields, sir, before lock-up?” said Julian, as a triumphant shout proclaimed that the game was over, and the Parkites had defeated the Grovians.
“Yes, do. By the bye, what was it that you had to ask me about?”
“Oh, sir, I don’t think I’ve told you before; but I’m going up to Saint Werner’s as a sub-sizar.”
Mr Carden looked surprised. “Indeed! Is that necessary?”
“Yes, sir; it’s a choice between that and not going at all. And what I wanted to ask you was, whether it will subject me to much annoyance or contempt; because, if so—”
“Contempt, my dear fellow!” said Mr Carden quickly. “Yes,” he added, after a pause, “the contempt of the contemptible—certainly of no one else.”
“But do you think that any Harton fellows will cut me?”
“Unquestionably not; at least, if any of them do, it will be such a proof of their own absolute worthlessness, that you will be well rid of such acquaintances.”
Julian seemed but little reassured by this summary way of viewing the matter.
“But I hope,” he said, “that no one, (even if they don’t cut me), will regard my society as a matter of mere tolerance, or try an air of condescension.”