On entering, he found himself in a room, luxuriously furnished, and full of books. In a large armchair before the fire sat a clergyman, whom Julian at once conjectured to be Mr Grayson, the tutor on whose "side" he was entered. He was a tall, grave-looking man, of about forty, and rose to greet his pupil with a formal bow. "How do you do, Mr --? I did not quite catch the name." "Home, sir," said Julian, advancing to shake hands in a cordial and confiding manner; but the tutor contented himself with a very cold shake, and seemed at a loss how to proceed. Julian was burning with curiosity and eagerness. He longed to ask a hundred questions; at such a moment--a moment when he first felt how completely he had passed over the boundary which divides boyhood from manhood, he yearned for a word of advice, of encouragement, of sympathy. He expected, at least, something which should resemble a welcome, or a direction what to do. Nothing of the kind, however, came. While Julian was awaiting some remark, the tutor shuffled, hemmed, and looked ill at ease, as though at a loss how to begin the conversation. At last Julian, in despair, asked, "Whereabouts are my rooms, sir?" "Oh, the porter will show you; you'll find no difficulty about them," said the tutor. "Have you anything further to ask me, Mr Home?" he inquired, after another little pause. "Nothing whatever, sir," said Julian, a little indignantly, for he began to feel much like what a volcano may be supposed to do when its crater is filled with snow. "Have you anything to tell me, sir?" "No, Mr Home. I hope you'll--that is--I hope--good morning," he said, as Julian, to relieve him from an unprofitable commonplace, backed towards the door, and made a formal bow. "Humph," thought Julian. "What an icicle; not much good to be got out of that quarter. An intolerably cold reception. It's odd, too, for the man must have heard all about me from Mr Carden."