“Your Papa is right, George. The question is now, what are you going to _do_ in your Profession?” Did a feeble hope of escape cross the bright young mind of George Augustus? Or was that supine love of being pretty comfortable added to the terror of disobeying dear Mamma, already dominant? He murmured something about “getting in with a respectable and old-established firm in London.” At the word “London” dear Mamma bridled. Although Mr. Gladstone spent much of his time in London, it was notorious in Sheffield Non-Conformist circles that London was a haunt of vice, filled with theatres and unmentionable women. Besides, dear Mamma was not going to let George Augustus off so easily; she still meant he should plough a deuce of a long furrow of filial obedience. “I cannot hear of _London_, George. It would break my heart and bring your dear Papa’s grey hairs” (dear Papa hated to be reminded that he was bald) “in sorrow to the grave, if you went to the _bad_ in that dreadful town. Think how we should feel if we heard you had visited a _Theatre!_ No, George, we shall not fail in our duty. We have brought you up to be a God-fearing Christian man... et patata et patati.” The upshot was, of course, that dear George Augustus did not go to London. He didn’t even get an office of his own in Sheffield. It was agreed that George Augustus would never marry (except for a whore or two, furtively and ineffectually possessed on furtive ineffectual sprees in London, George Augustus was a virgin), but would spend his life with dear Mamma, and (afterthought) dear Papa. So some structural alterations were made in the house. Another entrance was made, with a new brass plate engraved in copperplate: G. A. WINTERBOURNE SOLICITOR Three rooms, somewhat separated from the rest of the house, were allotted to George Augustus—a bedroom, an “Office,” and a “cosy study.” Needless to say, George Augustus did very little practice, except when his dear Mamma in an access of ambition procured him the job of making the will of some female friend or of drawing up the conveyance of the land for a new Wesleyan Chapel. What George Augustus did with most of his time is a bit of a puzzle—twiddled his thumbs, and read Dickens and Thackeray and Bulwer and George Augustus Sala mostly. * * * * *