"Well, I suppose you can afford to be late for once," replied Mr. Ashley. And William smiled as he sat down.
"We have had a letter from Cambridge, this morning. From Gar."
"And how does Mr. Gar get on?" asked Henry.
"First rate. He takes a leaf out of Frank's book; determined to see no difficulties in his way. Frank's letters are always cheering. I really believe he cares no more for being a servitor than he would for wearing a hat at Christchurch. All his wish is to get on: he looks to the future."
"But he does his duty in the present," quietly remarked Mr. Ashley.
William smiled. "It is the only way to insure the future, sir. Frank and Gar have been learning that all their lives."
Mr. Ashley, telling William not to get the fidgets, for he was not ready yet, withdrew to the next room with his wife. They had some weighty domestic matter to settle, touching a dinner party. Henry linked his arm within William's and drew him to the window, throwing it open to the early spring sunshine. Mary remained at the breakfast table.
"What do you think Cyril Dare, the presuming, has had the conscience to ask?" began he.
"I know," replied William. "I heard him say he should ask it yesterday."
"The deuce you did?" uttered Henry. "And you did not knock him down?"