Jarvice did not press for the exact amount.  He walked to the window and stood there with his hands in his pockets and his back toward his visitor.  Walter Hine watched his shoulders in suspense and apprehension.  He would have been greatly surprised if he could have caught a glimpse at this moment of Mr. Jarvice’s face.  There was no anger, no contempt, expressed in it at all.  On the contrary, a quiet smile of satisfaction gave to it almost a merry look.  Mr. Jarvice had certain plans for Walter Hine’s future—­so he phrased it with a smile for the grim humor of the phrase—­and fate seemed to be helping toward their fulfilment.

“I can get you out of this scrape, no doubt,” said Jarvice, turning back to his table.  “The means I must think over, but I can do it.  Only there’s a condition.  You need not be alarmed.  A little condition which a loving father might impose upon his only son,” and Mr. Jarvice beamed paternally as he resumed his seat.

“What is the condition?” asked Walter Hine.

“That you travel for a year, broaden your mind by visiting the great countries and capitals of Europe, take a little trip perhaps into the East and return a cultured gentleman well equipped to occupy the high position which will be yours when your grandfather is in due time translated to a better sphere.”

Mr. Jarvice leaned back in his chair, and with a confident wave of his desk ruler had the air of producing the startling metamorphosis like some heavy but benevolent fairy.  Walter Hine, however, was not attracted by the prospect.

“But—­” he began, and at once Mr. Jarvice interrupted him.

“I anticipate you,” he said, with a smile.  “Standing at the window there, I foresaw your objection.  But—­it would be lonely.  Quite true.  Why should you be lonely?  And so I am going to lay my hands on some pleasant and companionable young fellow who will go with you for his expenses.  An Oxford man, eh?  Fresh from Alma Mater with a taste for pictures and statuettes and that sort of thing!  Upon my word, I envy you, Mr. Hine.  If I were young, bless me, if I wouldn’t throw my bonnet over the mill, as after a few weeks in La Ville Lumiere you will be saying, and go with you.  You will taste life—­yes, life.”

And as he repeated the word, all the jollity died suddenly out of the face of Mr. Jarvice.  He bent his eyes somberly upon his visitor and a queer inscrutable smile played about his lips.  But Walter Hine had no eyes for Mr. Jarvice.  He was nerving himself to refuse the proposal.

“I can’t go,” he blurted out, with the ungracious stubbornness of a weak mind which fears to be over-persuaded.  Afraid lest he should consent, he refused aggressively and rudely.

Mr. Jarvice repressed an exclamation of anger.  “And why?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows and fixing his bright, sharp eyes on Walter Hine’s face.

Walter Hine shifted uncomfortably in his chair but did not answer.