CHAPTER XXX
We had a bit of good news to discuss over our tea.
A lectureship had been offered to the Lad by a great Canadian university. The opportunity was unusual for a man so young, and we were all jubilant. A very human interest in his success had survived our exhaustive analysis of his temperament. We talked much of his future.
A week went by. Then the Lad read me a letter that gave me bitter disappointment. The honour was lost, and that through the Lad’s own action.
He had written, before accepting, that he was not an orthodox churchman. The authorities had replied that he could not then instruct their youth.
“That boy has a great deal more religion than he thinks he has,” the Doctorgrumbled. “I should like to know where the university will get a stronger influence for good.”
But the Altruist shook his head. “His character has a certain nobility,” he said, “but he lacks the supreme touch of definite belief. The loftiest souls are sure. But I think the university wrong in confusing spiritual instinct with intellectual power.”
The Altruist was curiously radical in some of his views.
Even I gave the Lad only half-hearted approval. He had but his brains and his forth-coming book to win his way for him, and I could not help wondering if the confession had been necessary.
Janet was the only one of us who thoroughly liked the action.
“He could not have done anything else, being the man he is,” she said proudly. “He is the most delicately honest human being I have ever known.”
Gradually, as we went on talking, we decided that the step was worthy of ouradmiration. It was characteristic of a nature, we said, whose chief charm was a peculiar directness, mental and moral. In this lay the Lad’s great strength.
The Lad lost much in this transaction, but he gained more. It was a bold stroke in the battle of love. Janet was warm in her praise, and the Lad’s face began to wear a half-triumphant smile, most unbecoming in one whose hope of advancement had been lost.
It was then that the Altruist and I broke down another wall of reserve, and grew confidential over the unfinished love-story. The confession of this shames me. Hitherto we had kept it sacred from discussion. I was surprised to find that the Altruist was as eager as I for its happy completion. In our spare moments we made many plans for “the children,” as we called them. The Altruist and I were beginning to feel old.
Often the Altruist, in a musing vein, interpreted to me the spiritual significance of the simple romance.
“It is said that we walk blindly in this world, and cannot tell what the events of life mean. But see the way in which Janet’s nature changes under this influence! Can we doubt that her past unhappiness was sent to make her future happiness deeper? Ah, we do see and share the thoughts of God!”
I looked at the Altruist dubiously. Sometimes I thought he understood God’s plans too well. Then I reflected, and decided that he was right. In the shaping of Janet’s life I was confident that I too could read the design of the Almighty.