“Evidently there was a great bond of sympathy between her and her son.”
Dr. Joliffe agreed. There was reason, also, to believe that the son was a man of unusual powers.
“Why do you think that?” said the vicar sharply.
“It is Brandon’s opinion.”
The vicar shook a grave head. “I’m sorry to say that Brandon’s opinion is not conclusive, poor fellow. He is very far from being the man he was. Between ourselves I fear his mind is going.”
The doctor was loth to admit so much. He greatly feared for Brandon, it was true; moreover John Smith had gained such an intellectual ascendancy over him that it seemed to point to the vicar’s conclusion; at the same time Joliffe was unwilling to believe that Brandon’s estimate of the man’s genius was wholly the fruit of aberration.
“But,” rejoined the vicar, “Brandon is a very highly educated man. And a highly educated man has no right to such an opinion.”
“Well, you know, when I was in Brombridge the other day I met old Dunn, the high master of the grammar school where John Smith got his education. I asked him if he remembered him.”
“Well?”
“Not only did he remember him, but he said that John Smith was by far the most remarkable boy who had ever passed through his hands.”