When he found himself obliged to take part in conversation about Whitelaw College, Godwin was disturbed by an uncertainty which had never left his mind at rest during the past two years;—­was it, or was it not, generally known to his Twybridge acquaintances that he studied as the pensioner of Sir Job Whitelaw?  To outward seeming all delicacy had been exercised in the bestowal of Sir Job’s benefaction.  At the beginning of each academic session Mrs. Peak had privately received a cheque which represented the exact outlay in fees for the course her son was pursuing; payment was then made to the registrar as if from Peak himself.  But Lady Whitelaw’s sisters were in the secret, and was it likely that they maintained absolute discretion in talking with their Twybridge friends?  There seemed, in the first instance, to be a tacit understanding that the whole affair should remain strictly private, and to Godwin himself, sensible enough of such refinements, it was by no means inconceivable that silence had been strictly preserved.  He found no difficulty in imagining that Sir Job’s right hand knew nothing of what the left performed, and it might be that the authorities of Whitelaw had no hint of his peculiar position.  Still, he was perchance mistaken.  The Professors perhaps regarded him as a sort of charity-boy, and Twybridge possibly saw him in the same light.  The doubt flashed upon his mind while he was trying to eat and converse with becoming self-possession.  He dug his heel into the carpet and silently cursed the burden of his servitude.

When the meal was over, Mr. Moxey led the way out into the garden.  Christian walked apart with Janet:  Godwin strolled about between his host and the eldest Miss Moxey, talking of he knew not what.  In a short half-hour he screwed up his courage to the point of leave-taking.  Marcella and three of her cousins had disappeared, so that the awkwardness of departure was reduced.  Christian, who seemed to be in a very contented mood, accompanied the guest as far as the garden gate.

‘What will be your special line of work when you leave Whitelaw?’ he inquired.  ’Your tastes seem about equally divided between science and literature.’

‘I haven’t the least idea what I shall do,’ was Peak’s reply.

’Very much my own state of mind when I came home from Zurich a year ago.  But it had been taken for granted that I was preparing for business, so into business I went.’  He laughed good-humouredly.  ‘Perhaps you will be drawn to London?’

‘Yes—­I think it likely,’ Godwin answered, with an absent glance this way and that.

‘In any case,’ pursued the other, ’you’ll be there presently for First B.A.  Honours.  Try to look in at my rooms, will you?  I should be delighted to see you.  Most of my day is spent in the romantic locality of Rotherhithe, but I get home about five o’clock, as a rule.  Let me give you a card.’

‘Thank you.’

’I daresay we shall meet somewhere about here before then.  Of course you are reading hard, and haven’t much leisure.  I’m an idle dog, unfortunately.  I should like to work, but I don’t quite know what at.  I suppose this is a transition time with me.’