Allen’s stay in London was clearly of no further use, as Jock perceived with a sensation of relief, for all his pity could not hinder him from being bored with Allen’s continual dejection, and his sighs over each unsuccessful pursuit.  He was heartily tired of the part of confidant, which was the more severe, because, whenever Allen had a fit of shame at his own undignified position, he vented it in reproaches to Jock for having called him up to London; and yet as long as there was a chance of seeing Elvira, he could not tear himself away, was wild to get invitations to meet her, and lived at his club in the old style and expense.

Bobus was brief with Allen, and ironical on Jock’s folly in having given the summons.  For his own part he was much engrossed with his appointment, going backwards and forwards between Oxford and London, with little time for the concerns of any one else; but the evening after this unfortunate garden party, when Jock had accompanied his eldest brother back to his rooms, and was endeavouring, by the help of a pipe, to endure the reiteration of mournful vituperations of destiny in the shape of Lady Flora and Mrs. Gould, the door suddenly opened and Bobus stood before them with his peculiarly brisk, self-satisfied air, in itself an aggravation to any one out of spirits.

“All right,” he said, “I didn’t expect to find you in, but I thought I would leave a note for the chance.  I’ve heard of the very identical thing to suit you, Ali, my boy.”

“Indeed,” said Allen, not prepared with gratitude for his younger brother’s patronage.

“I met Bulstrode at Balliol last night, and he asked if I knew of any one (a perfect gentleman he must be, that matters more than scholarship) who would take a tutorship in a Hungarian count’s family.  Two little boys, who live like princes, tutor the same, salary anything you like to ask.  It is somewhere in the mountains, a feudal castle, with capital sport.”

“Wolves and bears,” cried Jock, starting up with his old boyish animation.  “If I wasn’t going pig-sticking in India, what wouldn’t I give for such a chance.  The tutor will teach the young ideas how to shoot, of course.”

“Of course,” said Bobus.  “The Count is a diplomate, and there’s not a bad chance of making oneself useful, and getting on in that line.  I should have jumped at it, if I hadn’t got the Japs on my hands.”

“Yes, you,” said Allen languidly.

“Well, you can do quite as well for a thing like this,” said Bobus, “or better, as far as looking the gentleman goes.  In fact, I suspect as much classics as Mother Carey taught us at home would serve their countships’ turn.  Here’s the address.  You had better write by the first post to-morrow, for one or two others are rising at it; but Bulstrode said he would wait to hear from you.  Here’s the letter with all the details.”

“Thank you.  You seem to take a good deal for granted,” said Allen, not moving a finger towards the letter.