Whereupon Mr. Southwode went into an examination of Rotha's acquirements and mental standing. It was pleasant enough and easy enough, though it was searching; it had too much savour of old times about it to be anything but easy and pleasant. Rotha did not fear it, and so enjoyed it. And so did her examiner. He found all that he had once known possible and hoped for her. The quick intelligence of the child he found matured; the keen apprehension practised; the excellent memory stored, even beyond what he expected. And then, Rotha's capital powers of reasoning were as true and clear-sighted as ever, her feeling as just and unperverted; the thirst for knowledge was more developed and very strong; and the knowledge already laid up amounted to a stock of surprising amount and variety.
That was to both parties a very pleasant two hours. Rotha was looking, by turns, into the face she loved so well and watching the familiar face play, with the delight of one whose eyes have been long without the sight of what they loved. Moreover, she was taking up again the various threads of learning which had slipped from her hand, feeling now that her hold of them would not loose again. There was a savour of old associations, too, about this talk, which was very fascinating; and further yet, Rotha had a subtle consciousness that she was satisfying Mr. Southwode. And he on his part was making new acquaintance with his little friend of old, and noticing with a little surprise and much admiration how she had changed and grown. The face which was always so eager and expressive had taken on womanly softness and mature richness, without losing a bit of its changeful fire. The sallow skin had become clear and fine; the lines of the lips, not less passionate and not less decided than they used to be, were soft and pure; refinement was in every curve of them, and in all the face, and all the figure, and in every movement of either; and the deep, flashing eyes could be innocently merry and sweet too, and constantly answered him before the lips could speak. As one quarter of an hour sped on after another, Mr. Southwode grew less and less ready to be relieved of his charge. Yet, he asked himself, what should he do with her? He did not entertain the idea Mrs. Purcell had suggested; it was not precisely a disagreeable idea, and it recurred to him, in the midst of philosophy and mathematics; it was not a disagreeable idea, but—he had never entertained it! And he doubted besides if Rotha would easily entertain it. He knew she was fond of him, fond of being with him; but it was a childish fondness, he said to himself; it could be nothing else. It was a childish fondness, too frankly shewn to be anything more or deeper. And Rotha was very young, had seen nobody, and could not know what she would like. That she would do anything he asked her, he had little doubt; she would marry him if he asked her; but Mr. Southwode did not want a wife on those terms. What should he do with her? Yes, he knew the difficulties, much better than she knew them; he knew how people would talk, and how under the circumstances they would have reason to talk; which Rotha knew not. All which troublesome elements of the relation subsisting between them, only somehow made Mr. Southwode hold to it the faster. Probably he was by nature an obstinate man.
Upon the pause which followed the end of her examination came a question of Rotha.
"Are you going to stay in this country now, Mr. Southwode?"
"My home is in England," he answered, rousing himself out of reverie.
Rotha's heart sank at that; sank sadly. Next came a recoil of her reason—Yes, you had better go away, if I cling to you in this fashion!
"Why?" was his next counter question. "What makes you ask?"
"I did not know," said Rotha. "I wanted to know. I heard people say you would live over there."
"What else have you heard people say about me?"
"Not much. Aunt Serena never spoke of you, I think, if she could help it. I have only heard somebody say that you were very rich—that your home would be over there now, probably;—and that you would concern yourself no more about me," Rotha added, in the instinct of truth.