Valentine was silent awhile, but when he did speak he said, “You feel sure, then, that she would have thought such a thing an insult?” He meant, you feel sure, then, that I should have had no chance even if my brother had not come forward.

“Perfectly sure,” answered John with confidence.  “That was a step which, from the hour you made it, you never could have retraced.”

Here there was another silence; then—­

“Well, John, if you think so,” said the poor fellow—­“this was rather a sudden blow to me, though.”

John pitied him; he had made a great fool of himself, and he was smarting for it keenly.  His handsome young face was very pale, but John was helping him to recollect his better self, and he knew it.  “I shall not allude to this any more,” he continued.

“I’m very glad to hear you say so,” said John.

“I came partly to say—­to tell you that now I am better, quite well, in fact, I cannot live at home any longer.  At home!  Well, I meant in St. George’s house, any longer.”

The additional knowledge John had that minute acquired of the state of Valentine’s feeling, or what he supposed himself to feel, gave more than usual confidence and cordiality to his answer.

“Of course not.  You will be considering now what you mean to do, and my father and I must help you.  In the first place there is that two thousand pounds; you have never had a shilling of it yet.  My father was speaking of that yesterday.”

“Oh,” answered Valentine, with evident relief, and with rather a bitter smile, “I thought he proposed to give me that as a wedding present, and if so, goodness knows I never expect to touch a farthing of it.”

“That’s as hereafter may be,” said John, leading him away from the dangerous subject.  Valentine began every sentence with a restless sigh.

“I never chose to mention it,” he remarked.  “I had no right to consider it as anything else, nor did I.”

“He does not regard it in any such light,” said John.  “He had left it to you in his will, but decided afterwards to give it now.  You know he talks of his death, dear old man, as composedly as of to-morrow morning.  He was reminding me of this money the other day when he was unwell, and saying that, married or unmarried, you should have it made over to you.”

“I’m very deeply, deeply obliged to him,” said Valentine, with a fervour that was almost emotion.  “It seems, John, as if that would help me,—­might get me out of the scrape, for I really did not know where to turn.  I’ve got nothing to do, and had nothing to live on, and I’m two and twenty.”

“Yes.”

“I do feel as if I was altogether in such an ignominious position.”

As John quite agreed with him in this view of his position, he remained silent.

Valentine went on, “First, my going to Cambridge came to nothing on account of my health.  Then a month ago, as I didn’t want to go and live out in New Zealand by myself, couldn’t in fact, the New Zealand place was transferred to Liz, and she and Dick are to go to it, Giles saying that he would give me a thousand pounds instead of it.  I shall not take that, of course.”