"May be you will not want to come back," she said.
"But, if I do," he persisted.
"And, may be, I shall have too many pupils, then, to bother with another."
"But, if you have not—if there is room for me?"
"I cannot answer, now. Wait until you apply, it will depend on what you have been taught, and the extent of your proficiency?"
He thought a moment. "The extent of my proficiency?" he repeated. "Should it be much or little?"
"That is for you to judge," she answered, enigmatically—and left him.
"That is for me to judge!" he muttered, looking after her. "Did she mean to warn me against learning too much from Miss Stirling? Did she mean to warn me against learning anything from her?" He smiled:—"Is she just a bit jealous of Miss Stirling, and has her jealousy quickened her perceptions?... My little Judith, have you cared for me—really, cared for me—all these years?—And have I been blind to the character of your affection, and blind to my own, as well?"
He turned aside into the park, where the great trees were whispering, softly, to one another, and all else was still.
Yes, he loved her! Not as the old friend, who had advised, and guided, and reproved. Not as he thought the man of steady life and confirmed habits, with wealth and reputation made, would love. Still more, not in the seemly manner a Governor's Councillor should love—but with a sudden rush of affection, that threatened to sweep away all the reserve and dignity of forty years. A love such as Paca, or Constable might have.