Part 1, Chapter XXI.
At Kilby Farm.
“Well—well—well—well,” said Mrs Portlock, folding her apron full of pleats, as Luke Ross sat talking to her for a while, and ended by telling her his intentions for the future. “Barrister, eh? Well, of all the trades I ever heard tell of—but can barristers make a living?”
“Yes, and a good one, too,” said Luke, laughing.
“Then you are not going to take to the school after all?”
“No, I have quite altered my plans, and I hope all will turn out for the best.”
“Ah, I hope so, I’m sure,” said Mrs Portlock, smoothing down her black silk dress, and then arranging a necklace of oblong amber beads, which she wore on market-days, one which bore a striking resemblance to a string of bilious beetles. “But what does your father say?”
“I have not told him my plans yet, for they have only been made since the governor’s meeting.”
“Well, Luke Ross,” said Mrs Portlock, in a resigned fashion, “I’m sure I don’t wish you any harm.”