So that Godwin had no ties which bound him strongly to any district.  He could not call himself a Londoner; for, though born in Westminster, he had grown to consciousness on the outskirts of Greenwich, and remembered but dimly some of the London streets, and a few places of public interest to which his father had taken him.  Yet, as a matter of course, it was to London that his ambition pointed, when he forecast the future.  Where else could he hope for opportunity of notable advancement?  At Twybridge?  Impossible to find more than means of subsistence; his soul loathed such a prospect.  At Kingsmill?  There was a slender hope that he might establish a connection with Whitelaw College, if he devoted himself to laboratory work; but what could come of that—­at all events for many years?  London, then?  The only acceptable plan for supporting himself there was to succeed in a Civil Service competition.  That, indeed, seemed the most hopeful direction for his efforts; a government office might afford him scope, and, he had heard, would allow him abundant leisure.

Or to go abroad?  To enter for the Indian clerkships, and possibly cleave a wider way than could be hoped in England?  There was allurement in the suggestion; travel had always tempted his fancy.  In that case he would be safely severed from the humble origin which in his native country might long be an annoyance, or even an obstacle; no Uncle Andrew could spring up at inconvenient moments in the middle of his path.  Yes; this indeed might be best of all.  He must send for papers, and give attention to the matter.

Musing in this way, he had come within sight of the familiar chemical works.  It was near the hour at which Mr. Moxey was about to go home for his afternoon dinner; why not interrupt his walk, and have a word with him?  That duty would be over.

He pushed on, and, as he approached the buildings, was aware of Mr Moxey stepping into the road, unaccompanied.  Greetings speedily followed.  The manufacturer, who was growing stout in his mellow years and looking more leisurely than when Godwin first knew him, beamed with smiles of approbation.

’Glad to see you; glad to see you!  I have heard of your doings at College.’

‘Nothing to boast of, Mr. Moxey.’

’Why, what would satisfy you?  A nephew of mine was there last Friday, and tells me you carried off half a hundredweight of prizes.  Here he comes, I see.’

There drew near a young man of about four-and-twenty, well-dressed, sauntering with a cane in his hand.  His name was Christian Moxey.

‘Much pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Peak,’ he said, with a winning smile.  ’I was at Whitelaw the other day, when you distinguished yourself, and if I had known then that you were an acquaintance of my uncle’s I should have been tempted to offer a word of congratulation.  Very glad indeed to meet you.’