Part 8 (2/2)

”Thank you,” said John. ”You are very good.” He intended to relapse into silence, but his instinct made him ashamed of seeming rude. ”You have a magnificent library,” he added presently in a rather cold tone.

”You have been used to much better ones in Cambridge,” said the squire, modestly.

”Do you know Cambridge well, Mr. Juxon?”

”Very well. I am a Cambridge man, myself.”

”Indeed?” exclaimed John, immediately discovering that the squire was not so bad as he had thought. ”Indeed! I had no idea. Mr. Ambrose never told me that.”

”I am not sure that he is aware of it,” said Mr. Juxon quietly. ”The subject never happened to come up.”

”How odd!” remarked John, who could not conceive of a.s.sociating with a man for any length of time without asking at what University he had been.

”I don't know,” answered Mr. Juxon. ”There are lots of other things to talk about.”

”Oh--of course,” said John, in a tone which did not express conviction.

Meanwhile Mr. Ambrose and Mrs. G.o.ddard walked briskly in front; so briskly in fact that Nellie occasionally jumped a step, as children say, in order to keep up with them.

”What a glorious Christmas eve!” exclaimed Mrs. G.o.ddard, as they turned a bend in the drive and caught sight of the western sky still clear and red. ”And there is the new moon!” The slender crescent was hanging just above the fading glow.

”Oh mamma, have you wished?” cried Nellie. ”You must, you know, when you see the new moon!”

Mrs. G.o.ddard did not answer, but she sighed faintly and drew a little closer to the worthy vicar as she walked. She always wished, whether there was a new moon or not, and she always wished the same wish. Perhaps Mr. Ambrose understood, for he was not without tact. He changed the subject.

”How do you like our John Short?” he asked.

”Very much, I think,” answered Mrs. G.o.ddard. ”He is so fresh and young.”

”He is a fine fellow. I was sure you would like him. Is he at all like what you fancied he would be?”

”Well no--not exactly. I know you told me how he looked, but I always thought he would be rather Byronic--the poetical type, if you know what I mean.”

”He has a great deal of poetry in him,” said Mr. Ambrose in a tone of profound admiration. ”He writes the best Greek verse I ever saw.”

”Oh yes--I daresay,” replied Mrs. G.o.ddard smiling in the dusk. ”I am sure he must be very clever.”

So they chatted quietly as they walked down the park. But the squire and John did not make progress in their conversation, and by the time they reached the gate they had yielded to an awkward silence. They had both been annoyed because Mrs. G.o.ddard had taken the vicar's arm instead of choosing one of themselves, but the joint sense of disappointment did not const.i.tute a common bond of interest. Either one would have suffered anything rather than mention Mrs. G.o.ddard to the other in the course of the walk. And yet Mr. Juxon might have been John's father. At the gate of the cottage they separated. The squire said he would turn back. Mrs.

G.o.ddard had reached her destination. John and the vicar would return to the vicarage. John tried to linger a moment, to get a word with Mrs.

G.o.ddard. He was so persistent that she let him follow her through the wicket gate and then turned quickly.

”What is it?” she asked, rather suddenly, holding out her hand to say good-bye.

”Oh, nothing,” answered John. ”That is--would you like to see one of those--those little odes of mine?”

”Yes, certainly, if you like,” she answered frankly, and then laughed.

”Of course I would. Good-night.”

<script>