“Why don’t you go in for the Remingham Scholarship?” he said suddenly, turning to Anthony, “and join me next year at Oxford. You could win it hands down; and as for funds to help you out, my father would see to that, I know, if I asked him. He thinks tremendously well of you. Do, for my sake.” Anthony shook his head. “I have thought about it,” he said. “I’m afraid.” Edward stared at him. “What on earth is there to be afraid of?” he demanded. “I’m afraid of myself,” answered Anthony. “Nobody thinks it of me, I know; but I’d end by being a dreamer if I let myself go. My father had it in him. That’s why he never got on. If I went to Oxford and got wandering about all those old colleges and gardens I wouldn’t be able to help myself. I’d end by being a mere student. I’ve had to fight against it even here, as it is.” Edward and Betty were both listening to him, suddenly interested. The girl was leaning forward with her chin upon her hand. Anthony rose and walked to the window. The curtains had not been drawn. He looked down upon the glare of Millsborough fading into darkness where the mean streets mingled with the sodden fields. “You don’t understand what it means,” he said. “Poverty, fear--all your life one long struggle for bare existence.” He turned and faced the softly-lighted room with its carved ceiling and fine Adams mantelpiece, its Chippendale furniture, its choice pictures and old Persian rugs. “Everything about you mean and ugly,” he continued. “Everybody looking down upon you, patronizing you. I want to get out of it. Learning isn’t going to help me. At best, what would I be without money or influence to start me? A schoolmaster--a curate, perhaps, on eighty pounds a year. Business is my only chance. I’m good at that. I feel I could be. Planning, organizing, getting people to see things your way, making them do things. It’s just like fighting, only you use your brains instead of your hands. I’m always thinking about things that could be done that would be good for every one. I mean to do them one day. My father used to invent machines and other people stole them from him, and kept all the profit for themselves. They’re not going to do that with me. They shall have their share, but I----” He stopped and flushed scarlet. “I’m awfully sorry,” he said. “I’ve got into a way of talking to myself. I forgot I was here.” Betty had risen. “I think you are quite right,” she said. “And when you’ve got on you’ll think of those who live always in poverty and fear. You’ll know all about them and the way to help them. You will help them, won’t you?” She spoke gravely. She might have been presenting a petition to the Prime Minister. “Of course I will,” he said. “I mean to.” She rang the bell and ordered coffee and cakes. While they were munching she sprung it upon them that she was going to buy a bicycle. A new design had just been invented with two low wheels of equal size. It could be made so that a lady could ride it.