The landlady came in bearing the tea-pot.  He wanted nothing, yet could not exert himself to say so.

But he was losing sight of a menace more formidable than defeat by Chilvers.  What was it his blackguard uncle had said?  Had the fellow really threatened to start an eating-house opposite the College, and flare his name upon a placard?  ‘Peak’s Dining and Refreshment Rooms’ —­merciful heavens!

Again the mood of laughter came upon him.  Why, here was a solution of all difficulties, as simple as unanticipated.  If indeed that awful thing came to pass, farewell to Whitelaw!  What possibility of pursuing his studies when every class-companion, every Professor,—­ nay, the very porters,—­had become aware that he was nephew to the man who supplied meals over the way?  Moral philosophy had no prophylactic against an ordeal such as this.  Could the most insignificant lad attending lectures afford to disregard such an occasion of ridicule and contempt?

But the scheme would not be realised; it sounded too unlikely.  Andrew Peak was merely a loose-minded vagabond, who might talk of this and that project for making money, but would certainly never quit his dirty haunts in London.  Godwin asked himself angrily why he had submitted to the fellow’s companionship.  This absurd delicacy must be corrected before it became his tyrant.  The idea of scrupling to hurt the sensibilities of Andrew Peak!  The man was coarse-hided enough to undergo kicking, and then take sixpence in compensation, —­not a doubt of it.  This detestable tie of kindred must no longer be recognised.  He would speak gravely to his mother about it.  If Andrew again presented himself at the house he should be given plainly to understand that his visits were something less than welcome,—­if necessary, a downright blunt word must effect their liberation.  Godwin felt strong enough for that, musing here alone.  And, student-like, he passed on to debate the theory of the problem.  Andrew was his father’s brother, but what is a mere tie of blood if nature has alienated two persons by a subtler distinction?  By the dead man, Andrew had never been loved or esteemed; memory supplied proof of this.  The widow shrank from him.  No obligation of any kind lay upon them to tolerate the London ruffian.—­Enough; he should be got rid of!

Alternating his causes of misery, which—­he could not quite forget —­might blend for the sudden transformation of his life, Godwin let the tea grow cold upon the table, until it was time, if he still meant to visit the theatre, for setting forth.  He had no mind to go, but as little to sit here and indulge harassing reflection.  With an effort, he made ready and left the house.

The cost of his seat at the theatre was two shillings.  So nicely had he adjusted the expenses of these last days that, after paying the landlady’s bill to-morrow morning, there would remain to him but a few pence more than the money needed for his journey home.  Walking into the town, he debated with himself whether it were not better to save this florin.  But as he approached the pit door, the spirit of pleasure revived in him; he had seen but one of Shakespeare’s plays, and he believed (naturally at his age) that to see a drama acted was necessary for its full appreciation.  Sidling with affected indifference, he added himself to the crowd.