"Never, I hope. But you know I must study; I have only my talents to depend upon for advancement in life; and my father, his heart is set on seeing me a bril—a good scholar."
"You are a brilliant scholar already," grumbled Georgina, bringing out the word which his modesty had left unspoken. "There's no reason why you should be at your books morning, noon, and night. I always said Mr. Peter Arkell was a martinet from the first hour he came to drill literature into me. Which he couldn't accomplish."
"The school meets in a week or two, you know, and——"
"Tiresome young reptiles!" interjected Miss Beauclerc. "We are quieter without them."
"And I must make the best use of my holidays for study," continued Henry. "They wish me to get to Oxford early."
"Goodness me! you might go now, if that's what you mean; you know enough. Harry, I do hope when you are ordained you'll get some high preferment."
"Such luck is not for me, Miss Beauclerc. I may never get beyond a curacy; or at most a minor canonry."
"Nonsense, and double nonsense! With the influential friends you may count even now! You know that everybody makes much of you. I should like to see you dean of this cathedral."
"And you——" Henry stopped in time. A tempting vision had mentally arisen, and for the moment led him out of himself. Did Georgina scent the treason, all but uttered? She resumed volubly, hastily—