“Well, I can hardly say,” he replied, “that as yet—er—we have come to a definite conclusion. The moral qualities, you see, though extremely valuable——” “For ultimate salvation,” said my father, “they are essential.” “Oh, of course,” said Mr. Lorton, “of course. But in the meantime, you know, and taken by themselves——” He paused for a moment, and then his face brightened. “Have you ever thought,” he said, “of making your son a missionary?” A sort of sigh emanated from his wife. “In a warm country,” she said, “a long way off?” Mr. Lorton nodded. “Healthy but remote,” he said, “where his moral enthusiasm could have full play?” “And where his personal appearance,” said Mrs. Lorton, “could scarcely fail to be such a protection to him?” “Quite so,” said Mr. Lorton. “I can conceive of no one eating dear Augustus.” Mrs. Lorton smiled not unkindly. “No one at all,” she said, “not even the most debased.” Afterwards, as we discovered, these remarks lacked sincerity. But for the moment we were not ungrateful. Colouring with pleasure my father lifted his hand. “I am again obliged to you,” he said, “for your tribute.” Mr. Lorton rose to his feet, evidently under the impression that the interview had ended. “Oh, not at all,” he said, “not at all, we are only too happy to have been of any assistance.” He moved towards the door. But my father motioned him back. Somewhat less agreeably, I thought, he sat down again. Allowing him a moment for this, my father then proceeded. “Sensible as I am,” he said, “both of the justice, and I may say discernment, of your suggestion, neither on financial nor hygienic grounds am I able to entertain it; and indeed in its main outlines the province of my son’s future has already been delineated for us. Second to none in my admiration of the noble calling to which you have referred, surely they are nobler who have created the means by which our missionaries subsist, and who, of the wealth that their efforts have amassed, continue to support these emissaries of religion. It is therefore to Commerce that my son has been called, but in his first introduction to this sacred field, we have only thought it right to afford you the opportunity of being the possible instrument of Providence.” “I see,” said Mr. Lorton. “That is very kind of you.” “Take away the number,” said his wife, “that you first thought of.” My father stared at her. But she appeared to be in a kind of stupor, and it seemed more merciful to avert his eyes. “It has in fact occurred to us,” he said, “or rather to me—for it was to me personally that the idea was vouchsafed—that your brother Chrysostom would be glad to hear that my son’s services were now available.” For two or three moments Mr. Lorton seemed to struggle for breath. Then he made a meaningless sound like that of a small animal. “My brother C—Chrysostom?” he said at last. “But in what capacity would you propose to offer your son?” My father smiled somewhat dryly.