“Leaves the Hall!” exclaimed Willoughby.  “I have not heard a word of it.  He made a bad start at the beginning, and I should have thought that would have tamed him:  had to throw over his Fellowship; ahem.  Then he received a small legacy some time back, and wanted to be off to push his luck in Literature:  rank gambling, as I told him.  Londonizing can do him no good.  I thought that nonsense of his was over years ago.  What is it he has from me?—­about a hundred and fifty a year:  and it might be doubled for the asking:  and all the books he requires:  and these writers and scholars no sooner think of a book than they must have it.  And do not suppose me to complain.  I am a man who will not have a single shilling expended by those who serve immediately about my person.  I confess to exacting that kind of dependency.  Feudalism is not an objectionable thing if you can be sure of the lord.  You know, Clara, and you should know me in my weakness too, I do not claim servitude, I stipulate for affection.  I claim to be surrounded by persons loving me.  And with one? . . . dearest!  So that we two can shut out the world; we live what is the dream of others.  Nothing imaginable can be sweeter.  It is a veritable heaven on earth.  To be the possessor of the whole of you!  Your thoughts, hopes, all.”

Sir Willoughby intensified his imagination to conceive more:  he could not, or could not express it, and pursued:  “But what is this talk of Vernon’s leaving me?  He cannot leave.  He has barely a hundred a year of his own.  You see, I consider him.  I do not speak of the ingratitude of the wish to leave.  You know, my dear, I have a deadly abhorrence of partings and such like.  As far as I can, I surround myself with healthy people specially to guard myself from having my feelings wrung; and excepting Miss Dale, whom you like—­my darling does like her?”—­the answer satisfied him; “with that one exception, I am not aware of a case that threatens to torment me.  And here is a man, under no compulsion, talking of leaving the Hall!  In the name of goodness, why?  But why?  Am I to imagine that the sight of perfect felicity distresses him?  We are told that the world is ‘desperately wicked’.  I do not like to think it of my friends; yet otherwise their conduct is often hard to account for.”

“If it were true, you would not punish Crossjay?” Clara feebly interposed.

“I should certainly take Crossjay and make a man of him after my own model, my dear.  But who spoke to you of this?”

“Mr. Whitford himself.  And let me give you my opinion, Willoughby, that he will take Crossjay with him rather than leave him, if there is a fear of the boy’s missing his chance of the navy.”

“Marines appear to be in the ascendant,” said Sir Willoughby, astonished at the locution and pleading in the interests of a son of one.  “Then Crossjay he must take.  I cannot accept half the boy.  I am,” he laughed, “the legitimate claimant in the application for judgement before the wise king.  Besides, the boy has a dose of my blood in him; he has none of Vernon’s, not one drop.”