“I suppose not, though I would have taken my dying oath she did. And after the frightful blow of being chucked, I tried to hide the effect, but couldn’t, owing to going right off my feed—especially breakfasts. My mother spotted that, and taxed me with being ill—a thing I never have been in my life. So I had to confess to her what a frightful trial I’d been through, and she told the governor.” “I’m sure they must have been very sad about it, for your sake.” “Not half as much as you would have thought; though many chaps have been utterly smashed up body and soul and gone into a consumption of the lungs for less. But it came as a bit of a shock to my people, because, you see, I’d never mentioned it, and—well, the girl was in a tobacconist’s shop, and my governor hates tobacco; which made it worse, though very unfair it should. Anyway, it shows what girls are.” “And shows what fathers are, seemingly.” “Yes; though how my governor, whose grandfather himself went out working in other people’s gardens, could object to a girl who had pluck enough to earn her own living, I don’t know. I had a furious row about it, until he pointed out that, as she had chucked me, it was not much good quarrelling with him about her. Which was true. Nobody but you has really understood what a knock-down thing it was. I’m an atheist now—simply owing to that woman; I don’t believe in a single thing. I said all girls were the same till I met you. Still, I feel as bitter as a lemon when I think much about it. But you’re different, I can see that.” “You’ll feel happier come presently.” “I am happier already—in a way, because I find all women are not like that. You and Mrs. Daccombe have done me a lot of good, especially you.” “Sure I be gay and proud to think so,” said Jane. “To promise and then change! Why, it’s contrary to human nature, I should think,” declared the ingenuous Anthony. But Jane Stanberry did not reply; she had reached a point in her own experience of life that indicated the possibility of such a circumstance. Young Maybridge was pleasant to see, and, as cynical chance would have it, his gifts, both physical and mental, were of a sort to shine conspicuous from the only contrast at hand. Dick Daccombe had a face of true Celtic cast, that might have been handsome, but was spoiled by an expression generally surly and always mean. His character became more distrustful and aggressive as he grew older, and the suspicious nature of him looked specially ill before Anthony’s frankness and simplicity. The latter was fair, with open, Saxon type of countenance. His good temper overcame all Richard’s jealousy from the first, but the keeper envied Anthony’s extra inch and a half of height and greater weight of shoulder, though he himself was the closer knit of the two.