"No, no, my dear boy! I haven't felt it till now. But, as you see,
things begin to look awkward. Do you think you can manage?"

"Of course I can. Don't trouble about me for a moment. I have my
hundred and fifty a year from Mrs. Woolstan, and that's quite enough
for a bachelor. I shall pick up something else. In any case, I've no
right to sponge on you; I've done it too long. If I had had the
slightest suspicion--"

A sense of virtue lit up Dyce's countenance again. Nothing was more
agreeable to him than the uttering of generous sentiments. Having
reassured his father, he launched into a larger optimism.

"Don't Suppose that I have taken your money year after year without
thinking about it. I couldn't have gone on like that if I hadn't
felt sure that some day I should pay my debt. It's natural enough
that you and mother should feel a little disappointed about me, I
seem to have done nothing, but, believe me, I am not idle.
Money-making, I admit, has never been much in my mind; all the same,
I shall have money enough one of these days, and before very long.
Try to have faith in me. If it were necessary, I shouldn't mind
entering into an obligation to furnish such and such a sum yearly by
when I am thirty years old. It's a thing I never said to anyone, but
I know perfectly well that a career--perhaps rather a brilliant
one--is opening before me. I know it--just as one knows that one
is in good health; it's an intimate sense, needing no support of
argument."

"Of course I'm glad to hear you speak like that," said the vicar,
venturing only a glance at his son's face.