’I would have said, most probably—­I will not be certain of my exact words in a suppositious case—­that you were a young fool, but not a dishonourable young fool, and I should have told you not to let your thoughts run upon a calf-love until you had magnified it into a passion.  And I dare say, to make up for the mortification I should have given you, I should have prescribed your joining the Hollingford Cricket Club, and set you at liberty as often as I could on the Saturday afternoons.  As it is, I must write to your father’s agent in London, and ask him to remove you out of my household, repaying the premium, of course, which will enable you to start afresh in some other doctor’s surgery.’

‘It will so grieve my father,’ said Mr. Coxe, startled into dismay, if not repentance.

’I see no other course open.  It will give Major Coxe some trouble (I shall take care that he is at no extra expense), but what I think will grieve him the most is the betrayal of confidence; for I trusted you, Edward, like a son of my own!’ There was something in Mr. Gibson’s voice when he spoke seriously, especially when he referred to any feeling of his own—­he who so rarely betrayed what was passing in his heart—­that was irresistible to most people:  the change from joking and sarcasm to tender gravity.

Mr. Coxe hung his head a little, and meditated.

‘I do love Miss Gibson,’ said he at length.  ‘Who could help it?’

‘Mr. Wynne, I hope!’ said Mr. Gibson.

‘His heart is pre-engaged,’ replied Mr. Coxe.  ’Mine was free as air till I saw her.’

’Would it tend to cure your—­well! passion, we’ll say—­if she wore blue spectacles at meal-times?  I observe you dwell much on the beauty of her eyes.’

’You are ridiculing my feelings, Mr. Gibson.  Do you forget that you yourself were young once?’

‘Poor Jeanie’ rose before Mr. Gibson’s eyes; and he felt a little rebuked.

‘Come, Mr. Coxe, let us see if we can’t make a bargain,’ said he, after a minute or so of silence.  ’You have done a really wrong thing, and I hope you are convinced of it in your heart, or that you will be when the heat of this discussion is over, and you come to think a little about it.  But I won’t lose all respect for your father’s son.  If you will give me your word that, as long as you remain a member of my family—­pupil, apprentice, what you will—­you won’t again try to disclose your passion—­you see, I am careful to take your view of what I should call a mere fancy—­by word or writing, looks or acts, in any manner whatever, to my daughter, or to talk about your feelings to any one else, you shall remain here.  If you cannot give me your word, I must follow out the course I named, and write to your father’s agent.’

Mr. Coxe stood irresolute.

’Mr. Wynne knows all I feel for Miss Gibson, sir.  He and I have no secrets from each other.’