Mary sighed; "I wish I could help you," she said; "but women can do so little. Come, let me take the fretting, and you the reading; that'll be a fair division."
"And then my dear mother too," he continued; "what will she think of it when it comes to her ears? and come it must."
"Nonsense," said Mary, "don't make a mountain of a mole-hill. You will go back, take your degree, and nobody will be the wiser."
"No, it can't be so," said Charles seriously.
"What do you mean?" asked Mary.
"These things don't clear off in that way," said he; "it is no summer-cloud; it may turn to rain, for what they know."
Mary looked at him with some surprise.
"I mean," he said, "that I have no confidence that they will let me take my degree, any more than let me reside there."
"That is very absurd," said she; "it's what I meant by brooding over things, and making mountains of mole-hills."
"My sweet Mary," he said, affectionately taking her hand, "my only real confidant and comfort, I would tell you something more, if you could bear it."