“Well, my boy, times are altered. I may as well be blunt and straightforward with you. I cannot afford to send you to college, and you will have to start now, beginning to earn your own living, instead of five or six years hence.”
Vane looked blank and disappointed for a few moments, and then, as he realised that his aunt and uncle were watching the effect of the latter’s words keenly, his face lit up.
“All right, uncle,” he said; “I felt a bit damped at first, for I don’t think I shall like going away from home, but as to the other, the waiting and college first, I shan’t mind. I am sorry though that you are in trouble. I’m afraid I’ve been a great expense to you.”
“There, don’t be afraid about that any longer, my boy,” said the doctor, rising. “Thank you, my lad—thank you. That was very frank and manly of you. There, you need not say anything to your friends at present, and—I’ll talk to you another time.”
The doctor patted Vane on the shoulder, then wrung his hand and hurried out into the garden.
“Why, auntie, what’s the matter?” cried Vane, kneeling down by the old lady’s chair, as she softly applied her handkerchief to her eyes.
“It’s money, my dear, money,” she said, making an effort to be calm. “I did hope that we were going to end our days here in peace, where, after his long, anxious toil in London, everything seems to suit your uncle so, and he is so happy with his botany and fruit and flowers; but Heaven knows what is best, and we shall have to go into quite a small cottage now.”
“But I thought uncle was ever so rich, aunt,” cried Vane. “Oh, if I’d known I wouldn’t have asked him for money as I have for my schemes.”
“Oh, my dear, it isn’t that,” cried Aunt Hannah. “I was always afraid of it, but I did not like to oppose your uncle.”
“It? What was it?” cried Vane.