‘And I to you,’ thought Godwin; a resolve which enabled him to rise with something like a conventional smile, and thus put an end to a very brief and quite unsatisfactory interview.

He strode homewards in a state of feverish excitement.  His own behaviour had been wretchedly clownish; he was only too well aware of that.  He ought to have put aside all the grosser aspects of his case, and have exhibited the purely intellectual motives which made such a change as he purposed seem desirable to him.  That would have been to act with dignity; that would have been the very best form of gratitude for the kindness he had received.  But no, his accursed lack of self-possession had ruined all.  ’The woman was now offended in good earnest; he saw it in her face at parting.  The fault was admittedly on his side, but what right had she to talk about ‘something advantageous’?  She would write to him, to be sure; that meant, she could not yet make up her mind whether to grant the money or not.  Pluto take the money!  Long before sitting down to her glossy note-paper she should have received a letter from him.

Composed already.  Now he was up in the garret bedroom, scribbling as fast as pen could fly over paper.  He had been guilty of a mistake—­ so ran the epistle; having decided to leave Whitelaw, he ought never to have requested a continuance of the pension.  He begged Lady Whitelaw would forgive this thoughtless impropriety; she had made him understand the full extent of his error.  Of course he could not accept anything more from her.  As for the past, it would be idle for him to attempt an expression of his indebtedness.  But for Sir Job’s munificence, he must now have been struggling to complete a radically imperfect education,—­’instead of going into the world to make a place for myself among the scientific investigators of our time’.

One’s claims to respectful treatment must be put forward unmistakably, especially in dealing with such people as Lady Whitelaw.  Now, perhaps, she would understand what his reserve concealed.  The satisfaction of declining further assistance was enormous.  He read his letter several times aloud.  This was the great style; he could imagine this incident forming a landmark in the biography of a notable man.  Now for a fair copy, and in a hand, mind you, that gave no hint of his care for caligraphic seemliness:  bold, forthright.

The letter in his pocket, he went downstairs.  His mother had been out all the morning; now she was just returned, and Godwin saw trouble on her forehead.  Anxiously she inquired concerning the result of his interview.

Now that it was necessary to make an intelligible report of what had happened, Godwin found his tongue falter.  How could he convey to another the intangible sense of wounded dignity which had impelled his pen?  Instead of producing the letter with a flourish, he answered with affected carelessness: 

‘I am to hear in a day or two.’