'Father went to Oxford, and so did you, didn't you?' said Cecil.
'Yes, there was no difficulty about that, as it happened; but my way was not all smooth, any more than yours. I had not been meant for a clergyman, and there were objections to be got over, and a good deal that was discouraging; but it all came right at last.'
He broke off his sentence rather abruptly, but in his heart it was ended thus: 'Thanks be to God for it.'
If Cecil had ever seen the luxurious home from which the curate came, or had known what good worldly prospects he had given up to enter holy orders, he would have made quite a hero of him in his own mind; but, even as it was, he looked up admiringly at the tall manly figure and bright resolute face. He liked to feel that Mr. Yorke was his friend, and for the moment longed to tell him all his trouble, and see if he could give him more help in bearing it than little Jessie could. But he was shy of beginning; and before he had opened his lips, a plump little old woman in a black silk dress and spotless apron appeared at the door, and announced, 'Your lunch is ready, sir.'
Lunch!—so they were to dine late; and though the cold mutton was not likely to prove a much greater dainty at six than at one, Cecil felt a little pride and pleasure in keeping such grown-up hours.
In honour of the young guest, Mrs. Keeling had set out every small luxury that either her lodger or she possessed; and there were poached eggs, and gooseberries, and sardines, and honey, and pickles, and gingerbread, and potted meat, arranged with great display upon the table, while the bread and butter and cheese, as being altogether ordinary, were exiled to a little sideboard behind Mr. Yorke's chair.
'Is there anything more you require, sir?' said the old dame before withdrawing, in a complacent tone that seemed to say, What could they require when such a variety was before them?
'Thank you, let me see: would you like some mutton, Cecil?'
Mrs. Keeling almost frowned at this proposal. How could the good young gentleman be so inconsiderate, she thought, as to propose to his visitor for lunch what was by and by to come up for dinner? She was quite relieved, however, by Cecil's eager negative, and went off to her kitchen well satisfied; while Mr. Yorke, after saying grace, proceeded to do the honours of the repast.
'May I give you some pickles, Cecil?' he said mischievously. 'I don't see anything to eat with them, so I suppose they are meant to form a course by themselves.'