Talbot laughed. "Yes, I fear it is but a vision of dreamland. But oh, mother,"—and his tone changed to solemn earnest,—"what a boon it would be!"
"Tell me why you dislike George Paradyne," resumed Mrs. Talbot, breaking the slight pause.
"I don't dislike, him. I like him in spite of all. One can't help admiring him for his spirit; he throws off all our shafts so bravely. He is one of the most generous, open fellows possible. I see you don't understand, and I don't understand it myself. Few of us do. There's an awful feeling about his going in for the Orville."
Mrs. Talbot gave it up as a bad job, and opened the book for the ten minutes' reading to the children, never omitted in the house.
The Talbots had made some acquaintance in the place, and Mrs. Talbot questioned Mrs. Gall and one or two more, what the dislike of George Paradyne arose from. She felt more interested on the subject than she could account for. But none were able to answer her. Mrs. Gall had herself put the same query to her son, and nothing satisfactory came of it.
As the term went on, the uncomfortable feeling in the school grew, greater and greater. But there was little time for anything but study, for the Oxford examination was approaching fast.
One hot Saturday afternoon, when the College had holiday, Mr. Henry went to the railway station to inquire after an expected parcel of books. Saturday afternoon was no holiday for him. He had three private lessons to give in it. As he left the station, walking very fast to keep his time at Mrs. Gall's, a sharp, sudden pain seized upon him. He was leaning against the fence of the plantation, white and faint, when Sir Simon Orville passed.
"Why, bless me, what's to do?" exclaimed that hearty gentleman. "Have you been run over?"
Mr. Henry smiled: his colour was coming back again. He said something about a sudden pain.
"Been eating green gooseberries?" asked the unsophisticated man. "I caught young Dick buying a quart. He's crunching the lot."