‘And so, I suppose, am I,’ said Edward, looking, as Roger thought, towards Cara with a sigh. ‘But I am not very fond of the idea. I hope you like it better than I do?’ ‘Nobody will ask my opinion whether I like it or not,’ said Roger. He caught a glimpse of himself at this moment in a mirror opposite, and his blue tie seemed to glare at him and force him on. ‘I shall have to do whatever will make me independent soonest. They’ve got a number of children at home.’ ‘It is very fine to be independent,’ said Mrs. Meredith, in her soft way; ‘or at least so all you boys think. You like to be able to do what you please without reference to your fathers and mothers.’ She looked at her own boys as she spoke, not at Roger, and even this added to his exasperation. How different they were with this soft mother, whose very look was a caress, from what he was, with all the children at home, and a father and mother whom numbers made impartial, and who had few prejudices in Roger’s favour. Poor boy, his heart swelled with a sense of his disadvantages; and naturally he did all he could to make them show the more. ‘Independence don’t mean that sort of thing to me,’ he said; ‘it is taking the expense off my father, that’s what they think of. I must get my own living as soon as I can, that is what it means; and if it is not a very good living so much the worse for me. No one else will pay much attention. Whether one does what one likes or does what one must, makes all the difference----’ ‘That is spoken like a philosopher,’ said Mr. Beresford, who had been looking at the young bear thus making uncouth noises of self-assertion with distasteful amusement; ‘but you must recollect that very few of us have the privilege of doing what we like. When we get this advantage, it is generally when we cease to prize it, when we should be thankful to go back to the _must_, and be under force again.’ Under other circumstances Roger could only have been respectful of Cara’s father, but he was otherwise inspired now, and ready to defy even that most privileged of mortals. ‘So you people say, sir,’ he said, with a rough show of respect, ‘who have things all your own way. So long as you don’t know what it is to be under force of circumstances, I suppose it seems rather fine than otherwise to do your duty though you don’t like it. I have thought that myself now and again. It looks self-denying and all that; but if it’s true, as people say, that you do best what you like best, I don’t see the good of self-denial in that way.’ ‘I agree with Mr. Burchell,’ said Oswald; ‘but I go further. What is the good of self-denial in any way? It always involves unkindness to somebody. Nature gives you a beautiful day, for instance, and you turn your back upon her and work. What could be more unkind and ungrateful? Or Cara says to me, “Come out and play croquet in the Square----”’