"I thought you had a paper first, before the viva?"

"Do not snap me up, girl. I speak in metaphors. To-morrow my angel hand glides my pen over the paper. On Thursday my angel tongue gives forth my wisdom with the sound of a tinkling cymbal."

"The paper to-morrow, the viva on Thursday?"

He bowed his angel head.

"George, don't, _don't_ fool. Are you nervous? Will you pa.s.s?"

"I shall rush, I shall bound. I shall hurtle through like a great boulder."

"_Georgie!_ Will you?"

He dropped his banter. "I believe I shall, old girl. I really think I shall. I've simply sweated my life out these weeks--all for you."

She patted his hand. "Dear old George! How I shall think of you! And then?"

"Then--why, then, we'll marry! Mary, I shall hear the result immediately after the viva. Then I shall rush back here and tackle old Marrapit at once. If he won't give me the money I think perhaps he'll lend it, and then we'll shoot off to Runnygate and take up that practice and live happily ever after."

With the brave ardour of youth they discussed the delectable picture; arranged the rooms they had never seen; planned the daily life of which they had not the smallest experience.

Twice in our lives we can play at Make-Believe--once when we are children, once when we are lovers. And these are the happiest times of our lives. We are not commoners then; we are emperors. We touch the sceptre and it is a magic wand. We rule the world, shaping it as we will, dropping from between our fingers all the stony obstacles that would interfere with its plasticity. Between childhood and love, and between love and death, the world rules us and bruises us. But in childhood, and again in love, we rule the world.

So they ruled their world.

III.

That night Mary prayed her George might pa.s.s his examination--a prayer to make us wise folk laugh. The idea of our conception of the Divinity deliberately thrusting into George's mind knowledge that he otherwise had not, the idea of the Divinity deliberately prompting the examiners to questions that George could answer--these are ludicrous to us in our wisdom. We have the superiority of my simple Mary in point of intelligence; well, let us hug that treasure and make the most of it.

Because we miss the sense of confidence with which Mary got from her knees; pa.s.sed into her dreams. With our fine intellects we should lie awake fretting such troubles. These simple, stupid Marys just hand the tangle on and sleep comforted. They call it Faith.

Yes, but isn't it grand to be of that fine, brave, intellectual, hard- headed, business-like stamp that trusts nothing it cannot see and prove? Rather!

CHAPTER III.

Barley Water For Mr. Marrapit.

I.

Up the drive George came bounding with huge strides. The fires of tremendous joy that roared within him impelled him to enormous energy.

Upon the journey from Waterloo to Paltley Hill he could with difficulty restrain himself from leaping upon the seat; bawling "I've pa.s.sed! I've pa.s.sed! I'm qualified!" He could not sit still. He fidgeted, wriggled; thrust his head first from one window, then from the other. Every foot of the line was well known to him. To each familiar landmark his spirit bellowed: "Greeting! When last you saw me I was coming up in a blue funk. Now! Oh, good G.o.d, now--" and he would draw in, stride the carriage, and thrust his head from the other window.

His four fellow-pa.s.sengers regarded him with some apprehension. They detected signs of lunacy in the young man; kept a nervous eye c.o.c.ked upon the alarm cord; at the first stopping place with one accord arose and fled. One, signing herself "Lady Shareholder," had her alarming experience in her daily-paper upon the following morning.

At his station George leapt for the platform a full minute before the train had stopped. Up the lanes he sent his bursting spirits flying in shrill whistlings and gay hummings; slashed stones with his stick; struck across the fields and took gates and stiles in great spread- eagled vaults.

So up the drive, stones still flying, whistlings still piping.

II.

Upon the lawn he espied Mr. Marrapit and his Mary. She, on a garden seat, was reading aloud from the _Times_; Mr. Marrapit, on a deep chair stretched to make lap for the Rose of Sharon, sat a little in advance of her.

George approached from Mr. Marrapit's flank; soft turf m.u.f.fled his strides. The warm glow of kindliness towards all the world, which his success had stoked burning within him, put a foreign word upon his tongue. He sped it on a boisterous note:

"Uncle!" he cried. "Uncle, I've pa.s.sed!"

Mary crushed the _Times_ between her hands; bounded to her feet. "Oh!"

she cried. "Hip! hur--!"

She bit the final exclamation; dropped to her seat. Mr. Marrapit had twisted his eye upon her.

"You are in pain?" he asked.

"No--oh, no."

"You have a pang in the hip?"

"Oh no--no."

"But you bounded. You cried 'hip'! Whose hip?"

"I was startled."

"Unsatisfactory. The brain, not the hip, is the seat of the emotion.

Elucidate."

"I don't know why I said 'hip.' I was startled. Mr. George startled me."

"Me also he startled. I did not shout hip, thigh, leg nor knee.

Control the tongue."

He turned to George. "Miss Humfray's extraordinary remark has projected this dilatory reception of your news. I beg you repeat it."

Sprayed upon between mortification and laughter at the manner of his greeting, George's enthusiasm was a little damped. But its flame was too fierce to be hurt by a shower. Now it roared again. "I've pa.s.sed!"

he cried. "I'm qualified!"

"I tender my felicitations. Accept them. Leave us, Miss Humfray. This is a mighty hour. Take the Rose. Give her cream. Let her with us rejoice."

Mary raised the cat. She faced about so that she directly shut Mr.

Marrapit from his nephew; with her dancing eyes spoke her happiness to her George; pa.s.sed down the lawn.