"A young man must take his chance about that," replied Beaumont satirically. "Of course Blake will be with me and for my own sake I will do my best to keep him out of harm's way; but you surely don't want him to stay in this village all his life, wrapped up in cotton wool?"
"I'm not in the habit of being wrapped up in cotton wool," cried Reginald, piqued at the artist's tone, "and I daresay if I was in London I could look after myself without anybody's help."
"I've no doubt you could," replied Beaumont cordially, "all I offer you is assistance. Now what do you say, Dr. Larcher?"
"At present, I can say nothing," answered the vicar slowly. "Reginald is as dear to me as if he was my own son, and the choice of a career is not lightly to be decided upon. I had hoped he would become a curate, and then there would have been no necessity for his leaving me."
"I don't think I would have made a good curate," said Blake shaking his head, "and though I love this dear old village very much, yet I want to see a little of the world--my voice is my only talent, so the sooner I make use of it the better."
"Quod adest memento componere aquus," quoted the vicar significantly.
"Dum loquimur, fugerit invida ætas," replied Reginald quickly.
"Fairly answered," said the vicar with a half sigh. "Yes, I suppose you must take advantage of flying time and it is no use for you to waste your life in idleness. Would you like to be a singer?"
"I think so," said Blake after a pause. "Of course I am anxious to make my own way in the world, and unless I make use of my one talent I do not see how I am to do so."
"I wish I had your one talent," observed Beaumont, rather enviously; "I would not rail against fate--well Doctor Larcher, and what is your decision?"