For a fortnight after his return to Oxford, college work absorbed all John’s leisure:  but he found time as a matter of course to meet Charles on his arrival at the Angel Inn, and took him straight off to Christ Church to present him to the Senior Censor.  Next day he called to find his brother installed in Peckwater, on the topmost floor, but in rooms very much more cheerful than the garret suggested by Mr. Sherman.  Charles, at any rate, was delighted with them and his sticks of furniture, and elated—­as thousands of undergraduates have been before his day and since—­at exchanging school for college and qualified liberty and the dignity of housekeeping on one’s own account.

“Est aliquid quocunque loco, quocunque recessu,” he quoted, and showed John with triumph the window seat which, lifted, disclosed a cupboard to contain his wine, if ever he should possess any.

“Are you proposing to become a wine-bibber in your enthusiasm?” asked John.

Charles closed the lid, seated himself upon it, drew up his legs, and gazed out across the quadrangle.  He had made a friend or two already among the freshmen, and this life seemed to him very good.

“My dear Jack, you would not have me be a saint all at once!”

John frowned.  “You do not forget, I hope, in what hope you have been helped to Christ Church?”

Charles sat nursing his knees.  A small frown puckered his forehead, but scarcely interfered with the good-tempered smile about his mouth.

“Others beside my father have helped or are willing to help.  See that letter?”—­he nodded towards one lying open on the table—­ “It is from Ireland.  It has been lying in the porter’s lodge for a week, and my scout brought it up this morning.”

John picked it up, smiling at his boyish air of importance.  “Am I to read it?”

Charles nodded, and while his brother read, gazed out of window.  The smile still played about his mouth, but queerly.

“It is a handsome offer,” said John slowly, and laid the letter down.  “Have you taken any decision?”

“Father leaves it to me, as you know,” Charles answered and paused, musing.  “I suppose, now, ninety-nine out of a hundred would jump at it.”

“Assuredly.”

“Somehow our family seems to be made up of odd hundredths.  You, for example, do not wish me to accept.”

“I have said nothing to influence your choice.”

“No, my dear Jack, you have not.  Yet I know what you think, fast enough.”

John picked up the letter again and folded it carefully.

“An estate in Ireland; a safe seat in the Irish Parliament; and money.  Jack, that money might help to make many happy.  Think of our mother, often without enough to eat; think of father’s debts.  He knows I would pay them,” said Charles.

“And yet he has not tried to influence your choice.”

“He’s a Trojan, Jack; an old warhorse.  You have cause to love him, for he loves you so much above all of us—­and you know it—­that, had the choice been offered you, he’d have moved heaven and earth to prevent your accepting a fortune.”