and without a notion that he was showing himself to the best advantage, he yielded to the pleasure, and for once proved of what he was capable—­revealing unawares an unusual amount of intelligence and observation, and great power of expression.  Not even his aunt had ever seen him appear so much like a superior man, and the only alloy was his father’s, ill-repressed dread lest he should fall on dangerous ground, and commit himself either to his wildly philanthropical or extravagantly monarchical views, whichever might happen to be in the ascendant.  However, such shoals were not approached, nor did Louis ever plunge out of his depth.  The whole of his manner and demeanour were proofs that, in his case, much talk sprang from exuberance of ideas, not from self-conceit.

He was equally good in the morning:  he had risen early to hunt up some information which Sir Miles wanted, and the clearness and readiness with which he had found it were wonderful.  The guest was delighted with him; gave him a warm invitation to Oakstead, and on being left alone with Mrs. Ponsonby, whom he had formerly known, expressed his admiration of his friend’s son—­as a fine, promising young man, of great ability and originality, and, what was still more remarkable, of most simple, natural manners, perfectly free from conceit.  He seemed the more amazed, when he found, what he would hardly believe, that Fitzjocelyn was twenty-one, and had nearly finished his university education.

The liking was mutual.  No sooner had Sir Miles departed, than Louis came to the library in a rapture, declaring that here was the refreshing sight of a man unspoilt by political life, which usually ate out the hearts of people.

Mary smiled at this, and told him that he was talking ’like an old statesman weary of the world.’

‘One may be weary of the world beforehand as well as after,’ said he.

‘That does not seem worth while,’ said Mary.

‘No,’ he said, ’but one’s own immediate look-out may not be flattering, whatever the next turn may bring;’ and he took up the newspaper, and began to turn it over. ’’As butler—­as single-handed man—­as clerk and accountant.’  There, those are the lucky men, with downright work, and some one to work for.  Or, just listen to this!’ and he plunged into a story of some heroic conduct during a shipwreck.  While he was reading it aloud, with kindling eyes and enthusiastic interest, his father opened the door.  ‘Louis,’ he said, ’if you are doing nothing, I should be obliged if you would make two copies of this letter.’

Louis glanced at the end of what he was reading, laid the paper down, and opened a blotting-book.

’You had better come into the study, or you will not write correctly.’

‘I can write, whatever goes on.’

’I particularly wish this to be legible and accurate.  You have begun too low down.’

Louis took another sheet.