That was in other ways a notable year for the Markhams. For one thing Alice “came out.” She was eighteen: she had not been prematurely introduced as an eldest daughter very often is. And in consequence Lady Markham stayed in London longer and went more into society. This moment, so exciting to the _débutante_, was clouded over to Alice and to her mother by the fact that Paul was in disgrace. They were still in London when the Oxford term ended, and it had been their hope that he would join them there. It is true that this prospect was not altogether an unmingled delight, for a certain alarm was involved in their joy. How would his father and he “get on” after this first quarrel? Would Paul be as submissive, would Sir William be as forgiving, as they ought? All the little triumphs of Alice, her _succès_, the admiration she had excited were made of no account by this doubt and fear about her brother. But when, just before the long vacation began, a letter arrived from Paul, announcing that he did not mean to join them at all, but was going to “stay up and read,” with a party of other “men” who entertained that virtuous intention, the revulsion of feeling in the minds of the mother and sister was very painful. They forgot that they had ever entertained any fear about his coming, and cried over his letter with the bitterest pangs of disappointment. “It is all papa’s fault,” Alice cried in mournful wrath; and though Lady Markham checked her daughter, saying, “Hush! surely your papa knows better than you do,” yet there was a little rebellion in her heart too against the head of the house. Had he been less hard, Paul would have been more docile.