After much musing, the mother ventured a timid question, the result of her anxieties rather than of her judgment on the point at issue.

’Godwin, dear, are you quite sure that his shop would make so much difference?’

The young man gave a passionate start.

’What!  To have the fellows going there to eat, and hearing his talk, and—?  Not for a day could I bear it!  Not for an hour!’

He was red with anticipated shame, and his voice shook with indignation at the suggested martyrdom.  Mrs. Peak dried a tear.

‘You would be so alone in London, Godwin.’

’Not a bit of it.  Young Mr. Moxey will be a useful friend, I am convinced he will.  To tell you the whole truth, I aim at getting a place at the works in Rotherhithe, where he no doubt has influence.  You see, mother, I might manage it even before the end of the year.  Our Mr. Moxey will be disposed to help me with his recommendation.’

’But, my dear, wouldn’t it come to the same thing, then, if you went back to Mr. Moxey’s?’

He made a gesture of impatience.

’No, no, no!  I couldn’t live at Twybridge.  I have my way to make, mother, and the place for that is London.  You know I am ambitious.  Trust me for a year or two, and see the result.  I depend upon your help in this whole affair.  Don’t refuse it me.  I have done with Whitelaw, and I have done with Twybridge:  now comes London.  You can’t regard me as a boy, you know.’

’No—­but’—­

‘But me no buts!’ he cried, laughing excitedly.  ’The thing is settled.  As soon as possible in the morning I post this letter.  I feel it will be successful.  See aunt to-morrow, and get her support.  Mind that Charlotte and Oliver don’t talk to people.  If you all use discretion, there’s no need for any curiosity to be excited.’

When Godwin had taken a resolve, there was no domestic influence strong enough to prevent his acting upon it.  Mrs. Peak’s ignorance of the world, her mild passivity, and the faith she had in her son’s intellectual resources, made her useless as a counsellor, and from no one else—­now that Mr. Gunnery was dead—­would the young man have dreamt of seeking guidance.  Whatever Lady Whitelaw’s reply, he had made up his mind to go to London.  Should his subsidy be refused, then he would live on what his mother could allow him until—­ probably with the aid of Christian Moxey—­he might obtain a salaried position.  The letter was despatched, and with feverish impatience he awaited a reply.

Nine days passed, and he heard nothing.  Half that delay sufficed to bring out all the self-tormenting capacities of a nature such as his.  To his mother’s conjectural explanations he could lend no ear.  Doubtless Lady Whitelaw (against whom, for subtle reasons, he was already prejudiced) had taken offence; either she would not reply at all, or presently there would come a few lines of polite displeasure, intimating her disinclination to aid his project.  He silently raged against ‘the woman’.  Her neglect was insolence.  Had she not delicacy enough to divine the anxiety natural to one in his dependent position?  Did she take him for an every-day writer of mendicant appeals?  His pride fed upon the outrage and became fierce.