‘I fear so, sir.’

’He has profited by your example at Oxford.  Did you persuade him to come to these races?’

‘I am afraid I did.’

‘Though you knew the orders which had been given?’

‘I thought it was meant that he should not be away the night.’

’He had asked permission to go to the Derby and had been positively refused.  Did you know this?’

Silverbridge sat for some moments considering.  He could not at first quite remember what he had known and what he had not known.  Perhaps he entertained some faint hope that the question would be allowed to go unanswered.  He saw, however, from his father’s eye that that was impossible.  And then he did remember it all.  ’I suppose I did know it.’

’And you were willing to imperil your brother’s position in life, and my happiness, in order that he might see a horse, of which I believe you call yourself part owner, run a race?’

’I thought there would be no risk if he got back the same night.  I don’t suppose there is any good in my saying it, but I never was so sorry for anything in all my life.  I feel as if I could go and hang myself.’

‘That is absurd,—­and unmanly,’ said the Duke.  The expression of sorrow, as it had been made, might be absurd and unmanly, but nevertheless it had touched him.  He was severe because he did not know how far his severity wounded.  ’It is a great blow,—­another great blow!  Races!  A congregation of all the worst blackguards in the country mixed up with the greatest fools.’

‘Lord Cantrip was there,’ said Silverbridge; ’and I say Sir Timothy Beeswax.’

’If the presence of Sir Timothy be an allurement to you I pity you indeed.  I have nothing further to say about it.  You have ruined your brother.’  He had been driven to further anger by this reference to one man whom he respected and to another whom he despised.

‘Don’t say that, sir.’

‘What am I to say?’

‘Let him be an attache, or something of that sort.’

’Do you believe it possible that he should pass any examination?  I think that my children between them will bring me to my grave.  You had better go now.  I suppose you will want to be—­at the races again?’ Then the young man crept out of the room, and going to his own part of the house shut himself up alone for nearly an hour.  What had he better do to give his father some comfort?  Should he abandon racing altogether, sell his share of Prime Minister and Coalition, and go in hard and strong for committees, debates, and divisions?  Should he get rid of his drag, and resolve to read up on Parliamentary literature?  He was resolved upon one thing at any rate.  He would not go to the Oaks that day.  And then he was resolved on another thing.  He would call on Lady Mab Grex and ask her advice.  He felt so disconsolate and insufficient for himself that he wanted advice from someone whom he could trust.