"And Trevanion has no son," she said, mournfully. The blood rushed to my cheeks. Oh, young fool, again! We were both silent, when the door was opened, and Mr Trevanion entered. "Humph," said he, smiling as he saw me--and his smile was charming, though rare. "Humph, young sir, I came to seek for you--I have been rude, I fear: pardon it--that thought has only just occurred to me, so I left my blue books, and my amanuensis hard at work on them, to ask you to come out for half-an-hour--just half-an-hour, it is all I can give you--a deputation at One! You dine and sleep here of course?" "Ah, sir! my mother will be so uneasy if I am not in town to-night." "Pooh!" said the member, "I'll send an express." "Oh, no indeed; thank you." "Why not?" I hesitated. "You see, sir, that my father and mother are both new to London: and, though I am new too, yet they may want me--I may be of use." Lady Ellinor put her hand on my head, and sleeked down my hair as I spoke. "Right, young man, right: you will do in the world, wrong as that is. I don't mean that you'll _succeed_, as the rogues say--that's another question; but, if you don't rise, you'll not fall. Now, put on your hat and come with me; we'll walk to the lodge--you will be in time for a coach." I took my leave of Lady Ellinor, and longed to say something, about compliments to Miss Fanny; but the words stuck in my throat, and my host seemed impatient. "We must see you soon again!" said Lady Ellinor kindly, as she followed us to the door. Mr Trevanion walked on briskly and in silence--one hand in his bosom, the other swinging carelessly a thick walking-stick. "But I must go round by the bridge," said I, "for I forgot my knapsack. I put it off when I made my leap, and the old lady certainly never took charge of it." "Come, then, this way. How old are you?" "Seventeen and a half." "You know Latin and Greek as they know them at schools, I suppose." "I think I know them pretty well, sir." "Does your father say so?" "Why, my father is fastidious; however, he owns that he is satisfied on the whole." "So am I, then. Mathematics?" "A little." "Good." Here the conversation dropped for some time. I had found and restrapped the knapsack, and we were near the lodge, when Mr Trevanion said, abruptly, "Talk, my young friend: talk, I like to hear you talk--it refreshes me. Nobody has talked naturally to me these last ten years." The request was a complete damper to my ingenuous eloquence: I could not have talked naturally now for the life of me.