On Saturday, which was the day following, Jenny came up from Eton to spend the Sunday with his adoring family. Jenny was extremely unlike his name--a big and bony boy of sixteen, promising to be the biggest of the family, though neither Frederick nor Dick were short. He had big joints and long limbs, and red wrists and prodigious knuckles projecting from the short sleeve of his coat. But notwithstanding so many appearances against him, he was the most intellectual of Mrs. Eastwood’s sons--a “sap” at school, and addicted to reading away from school, a fashion of Eton boy with which the world is not familiar. By way of making up for this, he was somewhat rough in his manners, and great in such exercises as demanded strength rather than skill. He was tremendous at football, though no one gave him the credit for clever play; and though his “form” was bad, and precluded all hope of “the boats,” he could carry a skiff along at a pace which no one could keep up with, and against the stream was the greatest oar of his years afloat on the Thames. In consideration of these qualifications the youth of Eton graciously looked over his “sapping,” or rather were vaguely impressed by it--as, to do him justice, the modern schoolboy generally is when intellectual power is combined with the muscular force, of which he has a clearer understanding. Jenny was not yet a “swell,” but he was in a fair way for being a swell--a title which at Eton bears a very different meaning from its meaning elsewhere. But he was very good to his family when he went home, and tolerant of their ignorance. Jenny’s name in the school list was all starred and ribboned, so to speak, with unknown orders of merit, such as the profane eye comprehends not. He had a big Roman letter before his name, and a little Greek one after it, and a double number after that--mystic signs of honours which the Eton man understands, but which I will not attempt to explain. It might have been confusing to a more mature intellect to contemplate all the novelties which were to dawn upon him on this visit; but Jenny was not emotional. He shook hands with his brother-in-law who was to be, with extreme composure. “I suppose they have told you,” said Mr. Molyneux, good-humouredly permitting himself to be inspected by this big boy. “Yes, they have told me,” said Jenny, “but I knew you before.” “You did not know me in my present capacity. Indeed, I am not generally known in my present capacity,” said Molyneux; “and I don’t quite see why you should have been told. You would never have found out.” “Oh, shouldn’t I!” said Jenny. “Last time I was at home, I said, ‘He’s going to be Mr. Nelly, that fellow;’ didn’t I, mamma? Of course you are Mr. Nelly. Women don’t get half justice in this world. I like her better than you, as a matter of course; so that’s your distinction to me.” “Jenny goes in for Women’s Rights,” said his mother, with a smile.