"What do you think of doing when you do leave?" asked his mother. "Have you made up your mind?"
"Go into old Mowbray's office if he'll have me," answered Anthony.
"Edward will put in a word for you there, won't he?" suggested his mother.
"Yes. I'm reckoning on that," he answered.
Anthony turned again to his book, but his mother's needle lay idle.
"The girl's friendly too, isn't she?" she asked. "They say she can't express a wish that he doesn't grant her."
Anthony did not answer. He seemed not to have heard. His mother's thimble rolled to the floor. Anthony recovered it and gave it to her.
"What's she like?" his mother asked him.
"Oh, all right," he answered, "a nice enough girl."
"She's older than you, isn't she?" said his mother.
"Yes; I think she is," said Anthony. "Not much."
"Tom Cripps was up on the moor the other morning." His mother had resumed her sewing. "Poaching, I expect. He saw you both there. He's a rare one to gossip. Will it matter?"
