I held my breath for my grandfather's reply. The rector, however, had read him, and well knew that a show of reluctance would but inflame him the more.
"How now, sir?" he exclaimed. "Surely, as you love the King, you will not refuse me in this strait."
Mr. Allen rose and grasped him by the hand.
"Nay, sir," said he, "and you put it thus, I cannot refuse you."
The thought of it was too much. I ran to my grandfather crying: "Not Mr. Allen, sir, not Mr. Allen. Any one else you please,—Mr. Fairbrother even."
The rector drew back haughtily. "It is clear, Mr. Carvel," he said, "that Richard has other preferences."
"And be damned to them!" shouted my grandfather. "Am I to be ruled by this headstrong boy? He has beat Mr. Fairbrother, and shall have no skimmed-milk supervision if I can help it."
And so it was settled that I should be tutored by the rector of St. Anne's, and I took my seat beside my cousin Philip in his study the very next day.