The suggestion to unite the two came to her, of course, but their physical disparity denied her that chance to settle her own difficulty, and a whisper of one physically the match for him punished her.  In stature, in healthfulness, they were equals, perhaps:  not morally or intellectually.  And she could claim headship of him on one little point confided to her by his mother, who was bearing him, and startled by the boom of guns under her pillow, when her husband fronted the enemy:  Matthew Weyburn, the fencer, boxer, cricketer, hunter, all things manly, rather shrank from firearms—­at least, one saw him put on a screw to manipulate them.  In danger—­among brigands or mutineers, for example—­she could stand by him and prove herself his mate.  Intellectually, morally, she had to bow humbly.  Nor had she, nor could she do more than lean on and catch example from his prompt spiritual valiancy.  It shone out from him, and a crisis fulfilled the promise.  Who could be his mate for cheerful courage, for skill, the ready mind, easy adroitness, and for self-command?  To imitate was a woman’s utmost.

Matthew Weyburn appeared the very Matey of the first of May cricketing day among Cuper’s boys the next morning, when seen pacing down the garden-walk.  He wore his white trousers of that happiest of old days—­the ‘white ducks’ Aminta and Selina remembered.  Selina beamed.  ’Yes, he did; he always wore them; but now it’s a frock-coat instead of a jacket.’

‘But now he will be a master instead of a schoolboy,’ said Aminta.  ’Let us hope he will prosper.’

‘He gives me the idea of a man who must succeed,’ Selina said; and she was patted, rallied, asked how she had the idea, and kissed; Aminta saying she fancied it might be thought, for he looked so confident.

‘Only not what the boys used to call “cocky,"’ said Selina.  ’He won’t be contemptuous of those he outstrips.’

’His choice of the schoolmaster’s profession points to a modesty in him, does it not, little woman?’

’He made me tell him, while you were writing your letters yesterday, all about my brother and his prospects.’

’Yes, that is like him.  And I must hear of your brother, “little Collett.”  Don’t forget, Sely, little Collett was our postman.’

The Countess of Ormont’s humorous reference to the circumstance passed with Selina for a sign of a poetic love of the past, and a present social elevation that allowed her to review it impassively.  She admired the great lady and good friend who could really be interested in the fortunes of a mere schoolmaster and a merchant’s clerk.  To her astonishment, by some agency beyond her fathoming, she found herself, and hardly for her own pleasure, pushing the young schoolmaster animatedly to have an account of his aims in the establishment of the foreign school.