the society of these fine aristocrats of literature helped him to accept humanity as it had been, and was; a supreme ironic procession, with laughter of Gods in the background.  Why not laughter of mortals also?  Adrian had his laugh in his comfortable corner.  He possessed peculiar attributes of a heathen God.  He was a disposer of men:  he was polished, luxurious, and happy—­at their cost.  He lived in eminent self-content, as one lying on soft cloud, lapt in sunshine.  Nor Jove, nor Apollo, cast eye upon the maids of earth with cooler fire of selection, or pursued them in the covert with more sacred impunity.  And he enjoyed his reputation for virtue as something additional.  Stolen fruits are said to be sweet; undeserved rewards are exquisite.

The best of it was, that Adrian made no pretences.  He did not solicit the favourable judgment of the world.  Nature and he attempted no other concealment than the ordinary mask men wear.  And yet the world would proclaim him moral, as well as wise, and the pleasing converse every way of his disgraced cousin Austin.

In a word, Adrian Harley had mastered his philosophy at the early age of one-and-twenty.  Many would be glad to say the same at that age twice-told:  they carry in their breasts a burden with which Adrian’s was not loaded.  Mrs. Doria was nearly right about his heart.  A singular mishap (at his birth, possibly, or before it) had unseated that organ, and shaken it down to his stomach, where it was a much lighter, nay, an inspiring weight, and encouraged him merrily onward.  Throned there it looked on little that did not arrive to gratify it.  Already that region was a trifle prominent in the person of the wise youth, and carried, as it were, the flag of his philosophical tenets in front of him.  He was charming after dinner, with men or with women:  delightfully sarcastic:  perhaps a little too unscrupulous in his moral tone, but that his moral reputation belied him, and it must be set down to generosity of disposition.

Such was Adrian Harley, another of Sir Austin’s intellectual favourites, chosen from mankind to superintend the education of his son at Raynham.  Adrian had been destined for the Church.  He did not enter into Orders.  He and the baronet had a conference together one day, and from that time Adrian became a fixture in the Abbey.  His father died in his promising son’s college term, bequeathing him nothing but his legal complexion, and Adrian became stipendiary officer in his uncle’s household.

A playfellow of Richard’s occasionally, and the only comrade of his age that he ever saw, was Master Ripton Thompson, the son of Sir Austin’s solicitor, a boy without a character.

A comrade of some description was necessary, for Richard was neither to go to school nor to college.  Sir Austin considered that the schools were corrupt, and maintained that young lads might by parental vigilance be kept pretty secure from the Serpent until Eve sided with him:  a period that might be deferred, he said.  He had a system of education for his son.  How it worked we shall see.