Not long afterwards Horace came into a small fortune from his maternal grandfather.  But poor Sidney did not come into any fortune, and people somehow illogically inferred that Horace had not behaved quite nicely in coming into a fortune while his suffering invalid brother, whom he had so deeply harmed, came into nothing.  Even Horace had compunctions due to the visitations of a similar idea.  And with part of the fortune he bought a house with a large garden up at Toft End, the highest hill of the hilly Five Towns, so that Sidney might have the benefit of the air.  He also engaged a housekeeper and servants.  With the remainder of the fortune he obtained a partnership in the firm of earthenware manufacturers for whom he had been acting as highly-paid manager.

Sidney reached the age of eighteen, and was most effective to look upon, his bright hair being still curly, and his eyes a wondrous blue, and his form elegant; and the question of Sidney’s future arose.  His health was steadily on the up grade.  The deafness had quite disappeared.  He had inclinations towards art, and had already amused himself by painting some beautiful vases.  So it was settled that he should enter Horace’s works on the art side, with a view to becoming, ultimately, art director.  Horace gave him three pounds a week, in order that he might feel perfectly independent, and, to the same end, Sidney paid Horace seven-and-sixpence a week for board and lodging.  But the change of life upset the youth’s health again.  After only two visits to the works he had a grave recurrence of the head-attacks, and he was solemnly exhorted not to apply himself too closely to business.  He therefore took several half-holidays a week, and sometimes a whole one.  And even when he put in one of his full days he would arrive at the works three hours after Horace, and restore the balance by leaving an hour earlier.  The entire town watched over him as a mother watches over a son.  The notion that he was not quite right in the pate gradually died away, and everybody was thankful for that, though it was feared an untimely grave might be his portion.

III

She was a nice girl:  the nicest girl that Horace had ever met with, because her charming niceness included a faculty of being really serious about serious things—­and yet she could be deliciously gay.  In short, she was a revelation to Horace.  And her name was Ella, and she had come one year to spend some weeks with Mrs Penkethman, the widowed headmistress of the Wesleyan Day School, who was her cousin.  Mrs Penkethman and Ella had been holidaying together in France; their arrival in Bursley naturally coincided with the reopening of the school in August for the autumn term.

Now at this period Horace was rather lonely in his large house and garden; for Sidney, in pursuit of health, had gone off on a six weeks’ cruise round Holland, Finland, Norway, and Sweden, in one of those Atlantic liners which, translated like Enoch without dying, become in their old age ‘steam-yachts’, with fine names apt to lead to confusion with the private yacht of the Tsar of Russia.  Horace had offered him the trip, and Horace was also paying his weekly salary as usual.