He was sorry to leave Oxford:  he had been happy there in his own desultory fashion; and the additional time that his illness had kept him an undergraduate, had been welcome as deferring the dreaded moment of considering what was to come next.  He had reached man’s estate almost against his will.

He was to go to join his father in London; and he carried thither humiliation for having, by his own fault, missed the honours that too late he had begun to value as a means of gratifying his father.

The Earl, however, could hardly have taken anything amiss from Louis.  After having for so many years withheld all the lassez-aller of paternal affection, when the right chord had once been touched, his fondness for his grown-up son had the fresh exulting pride, and almost blindness that would ordinarily have been lavished on his infancy.  Lord Ormersfield’s sentiments were few and slowly adopted, but they had all the permanence and force of his strong character, and his affection for Fitzjocelyn partook both of parental glory in a promising only son, and of that tenderness, at once protecting and dependent, that fathers feel for daughters.  This was owing partly to Louis’s gentle and assiduous attentions during the last vacation, and also to his long illness, and remarkable resemblance to his mother, which rendered fondness of him a sort of tribute to her, and restored to the Earl some of the transient happiness of his life.

It was a second youth of the affections, but it was purchased by a step towards age.  The anxiety, fatigue, and various emotions of the past year had told on the Earl, and though still strong, vigorous, and healthy, the first touch of autumn had fallen on him—­he did not find his solitary life so self-sufficing as formerly, and craved the home feeling of the past Christmas.  So the welcome was twice as warm as Louis had expected; and as he saw the melancholy chased away, the stern grey eyes lighted up, and the thin, compressed lips relaxed into a smile, he forgot his aversion to the well-appointed rooms in Jermyn Street, and sincerely apologized that he had not brought home more credit to satisfy his father.

‘Oakstead was talking it over with me,’ was the answer; ’and we reckoned up many more third-class men than first who have distinguished themselves.’

‘Many thanks to Sir Miles,’ said Louis, laughing.  ’My weak mind would never have devised such consolation.’

’Perhaps the exclusive devotion to study which attains higher honours may not be the beat introduction to practical life.’

‘It is doing the immediate work with the whole might.’

‘You do work with all your might.’

’Ay! but too many irons in the fire, and none of them red-hot through, have been my bane.’

’You do not set out in life without experience; I am glad your education is finished, Louis!’ said his father, turning to contemplate him, as if the sight filled up some void.