‘Everybody is going abroad, I think; but few people so far as we are. I don’t think I should care for the Continent--just the same old thing over and over; but India should be all fresh. You are going to India too, ain’t you? at least, that is what I heard.’ ‘I am not sure,’ said Edward. ‘The truth is, we have had very bad news this morning. My father died at Calcutta----’ ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ said Roger, who had kind feelings. ‘I should not have stopped you had I known; I thought you both looked grave. I am very sorry. I hope you don’t mind----?’ ‘Don’t mind my father’s death?’ ‘Oh, I mean don’t mind my having stopped you. Perhaps it was rude; but I said to myself, “Here is someone I know.” Don’t let me detain you now. I am very sorry, but I wish you were coming to India,’ said Roger, putting out his big fist to shake hands. Oswald eluded the grip, but Edward took it cordially. He was not jealous of Roger, but divined in him an unfortunate love like his own. ‘Poor fellow!’ Edward said as they went on. ‘Poor fellow!--why poor fellow? he is very well off. He is the very sort of man to get on; he has no feelings, no sensitiveness, to keep him back.’ ‘It is scarcely fair to decide on such slight acquaintance that he has no feelings; but he is going to India.’ ‘Ned, you are a little bit of a fool, though you’re a clever fellow. Going to India is the very best thing a man can do. My mother has always made a fuss about it.’ ‘And yourself----’ ‘Myself! I am not the sort of fellow. I am no good. I get dead beat; but you that are all muscle and sinew, and that have no tie except my mother----’ ‘That to be sure,’ said Edward with a sigh, and he wondered did his brother now at last mean to be confidential and inform him of the engagement with Cara? His heart began to beat more quickly. How different that real sentiment was from the fictitious one which they had both been playing with! Edward’s breath came quickly. Yes, it would be better to know it--to get it over; and then there would be no further uncertainty; but at the same time he was afraid--afraid both of the fact and of Oswald’s way of telling it. If Cara’s name was spoken with levity, how should he be able to bear it? Needless to say, however, that Oswald had no intention of talking about Cara, and nothing to disclose on that subject at least. ‘You that have no tie--except my mother,’ repeated Oswald, ‘(and of course she would always have me), I would think twice before I gave up India. It’s an excellent career, nothing better. The governor (poor old fellow) did very well, I have always heard, and you would do just as well, or more so, with the benefit of his connection. I wonder rather that my mother kept us out of the Indian set, except the old Spy. Poor old man, I daresay he will be cut up about this. He’ll know better than anyone,’ continued Oswald, with a change of tone, ‘what arrangements have been made.’