“I don’t see any difference, sir,” said I; “everything here seems exactly the same as when I went away—­”

He smiled, and shook his head.  “It is true enough,” he said; “after we have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the fall at the end.  But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to have you here.”

“If I had known that,” I said, “and that you wanted me, I should have come in any circumstances.  As there are only two of us in the world—­”

“Yes,” he said, “there are only two of us in the world; but still I should not have sent for you, Phil, to interrupt your career.”

“It is as well, then, that it has interrupted itself,” I said rather bitterly; for disappointment is hard to bear.

He patted me on the shoulder, and repeated, “It is an ill wind that blows nobody good,” with a look of real pleasure which gave me a certain gratification too; for, after all, he was an old man, and the only one in all the world to whom I owed any duty.  I had not been without dreams of warmer affections, but they had come to nothing—­not tragically, but in the ordinary way.  I might perhaps have had love which I did not want but not that which I did want,—­which was not a thing to make any unmanly moan about, but in the ordinary course of events.  Such disappointments happen every day; indeed, they are more common than anything else, and sometimes it is apparent afterwards that it is better it was so.

However, here I was at thirty stranded, yet wanting for nothing,—­in a position to call forth rather envy than pity from the greater part of my contemporaries; for I had an assured and comfortable existence, as much money as I wanted, and the prospect of an excellent fortune for the future.  On the other hand, my health was still low, and I had no occupation.  The neighborhood of the town was a drawback rather than an advantage.  I felt myself tempted, instead of taking the long walk into the country which my doctor recommended, to take a much shorter one through the High Street, across the river, and back again, which was not a walk but a lounge.  The country was silent and full of thoughts,—­thoughts not always very agreeable,—­whereas there were always the humors of the little urban population to glance at, the news to be heard,—­all those petty matters which so often make up life in a very impoverished version for the idle man.  I did not like it, but I felt myself yielding to it, not having energy enough to make a stand.  The rector and the leading lawyer of the place asked me to dinner.  I might have glided into the society, such as it was, had I been disposed for that; everything about me began to close over me as if I had been fifty, and fully contented with my lot.