"Salt at what, Robert?" asked Mrs. Tait.
"Why, at these rubbishing classics. I shall never make a tutor, as Mr. Halliburton and Francis do; and what on earth's to become of me? As to any chance of my being a parson, of course that's over: where's the money to come from?"
"What is to become of you, then?" cried Mrs. Tait. "I'm sure I don't know."
"Besides," went on Robert, lowering his voice, and calling up the most effectual argument he could think of, "I ought to be doing something for myself. I am living here upon Mr. Halliburton."
"He is delighted to have you, Robert," interrupted Jane, quickly. "Mamma pays——"
"Be quiet, Mrs. Jane! What sort of a wife do you call yourself, pray, to go against your husband's interests in that manner? I heard you preaching up to the charity children the other day about its being sinful to waste time."
"Well?" said Jane.
"Well! what's waste of time for other people is not waste of time for me, I suppose?" went on Robert.
"You are not wasting your time, Robert."
"I am. And if you had the sense people give you credit for, Madam Jane, you'd see it. I shall never, I say, earn my salt at teaching; and—just tell me yourself whether there seems any chance now that I shall enter the Church."