He took out the letter again and read the postscript carefully.
“Yes—tut, tut—how oddly things do work out sometimes. Evidently it is my duty all round, for the sake of everybody, to cast aside my natural bashfulness and use the opportunities Providence gives me.”
With which reflection he lit a cigar, and had a pleasant ramble in the park with little Miss Jill, who had rarely seen her papa more lively or amusing.
His spirits were destined to be still further cheered by an occurrence which took place on the following day.
Roger, despite his delicate health, had managed to get through a creditable amount of work during the summer under Mr Armstrong’s guidance. He was shortly to go up for his first B.A. in London, and, with that ordeal in view, had been tempted to tax his strength even more than was good for him.
At last the tutor put down his foot.
“No, old fellow,” said he; “if you work any move you will go backwards instead of forward. You must take this week easy, and go up fresh for the exam. Depend on it, you will do far better than if you tried to keep it up till the last moment.”
In vain Roger pleaded, threatened, mutinied. The tutor was inexorable, and, fortified by the joint authority of Mrs Ingleton and Dr Brandram, carried the day. He had also an unexpected ally in Miss Rosalind.
“Don’t be obstinate, Roger,” said she. “The three Fates are too many for you; and don’t sulk, whatever you do, there’s a dear boy, but make yourself nice and propose to take Tom and Jill and me across to Pulpit Island to-morrow. If you are so wedded to lessons, you and Tom shall have your art class for once in a way on the Pelican’s Rock instead of my room.”
Roger could hardly hold out after this; and Mr Armstrong, a little envious, set the seal of his approval to the programme.