“Yes, I shall be sorry to miss our talks,” she said. She turned to Anthony with a smile. “How old are you?” she asked.
“Sixteen,” he answered.
She was surprised. “I thought you were older,” she said.
“Sixteen last birthday,” he persisted. “People have always taken me for older than I am. Mother used to have terrible fights with the tram conductors; they would have I was nearer five than three. She thought quite seriously of sewing a copy of my birth certificate inside my cap.” He laughed.
“You’re only a boy,” said Betty. “I’m nearly nineteen. Yes, come and see me sometimes.”
Edward expected to be at Oxford three years. After that he would return to Millsborough and enter his father’s office. Mowbray and Cousins was the name of the firm, but Cousins had long passed out of it, and eventually the whole business would belong to Edward.
“Why don’t you go in for the Remingham Scholarship?” he said suddenly, turning to Anthony, “and join me next year at Oxford. You could win it hands down; and as for funds to help you out, my father would see to that, I know, if I asked him. He thinks tremendously well of you. Do, for my sake.”
Anthony shook his head. “I have thought about it,” he said. “I’m afraid.”
Edward stared at him. “What on earth is there to be afraid of?” he demanded.
“I’m afraid of myself,” answered Anthony. “Nobody thinks it of me, I know; but I’d end by being a dreamer if I let myself go. My father had it in him. That’s why he never got on. If I went to Oxford and got wandering about all those old colleges and gardens I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’d end by being a mere student. I’ve had to fight against it even here, as it is.”