"For, you know, if Reginald did really want me to keep house for him," said Janey, "(you have too much to do at home; or, of course, he would like you best), it would be dreadful if people found out how little I know."
"You ought to go to school," said Ursula, gravely. "It is a dreadful thing for a girl never to have had any education. Perhaps Reggie might spare a little money to send you to school; or, perhaps, papa--"
"School yourself!" retorted Janey, indignant; but then she thought better of it. "Perhaps just for a year to finish," she added in a doubtful tone. They thought Reginald could do anything on that wonderful two hundred and fifty pounds a year.
The College was a picturesque old building at the other side of Carlingford, standing in pretty grounds with some fine trees, under which the old men sat and amused themselves in the summer mornings. On this chilly wintry day none of them were visible, except the cheerful old soul bent almost double, but with a chirruppy little voice like a superannuated sparrow, who acted as porter, and closed the big gates every night, and fined the old men twopence if they were too late. He trotted along the echoing passages, with his keys jingling, to show them the chaplain's rooms.
"The old gentlemen is all as pleased as Punch," said Joe. "We was a feared as it might be somebody foreign--not a Carlingford gentleman; and some parsons is queer, saving your presence, Mr. May; but we knows where you comes from, and all about you, as one of the old gentlemen was just a-saying to me. Furnished, Miss? Lord bless you, yes! they're furnished. It's all furnished, is College. You'll think as the things look a bit queer; they wasn't made not this year, nor yet last year, I can tell you; and they ain't in the fashion. But if so be as you don't stand by fashion, there they is," said Joe, throwing open the door.
The young people went in softly, their excitement subdued into a kind of awe. An empty house, furnished, is more desolate, more overwhelming to the imagination, than a house which is bare. For whom was it waiting, all ready there, swept and garnished? Or were there already unseen inhabitants about, writing ghostly letters on the tables, seated on the chairs? Even Janey was hushed.