But though this morning both eggs and rasher have attained a high place in the leather department, he enters on his sorry repast with a glad heart.
Sweet are the rebounds from jeopardy to joy! And he has so _much_ of joy! Not only has he been able to shake from his shoulders that awful incubus--and ever-present ward--but he can be sure that the absent ward is so well-off with regard to this world's goods, that he need never give her so much as a passing thought--dragged, _torn_ as that thought would be from his beloved studies.
The aunt, of course, will see about her fortune.

_He_ has only a perfunctory duty--to see that the fortune is not squandered.

But he is safe there.

Maiden ladies _never_ squander! And the girl, being only seventeen, can't possibly squander it herself for some time.
Perhaps he ought to call on her, however.

Yes, of course, he must call.