‘You must, my dear boy; your education has been kept back so long. To be sure, he knows French,’ said Carry, with a wistful look at her husband, seeking approval, ‘which so few boys of his age do.’ Mr. Beaufort had considered that it would be advantageous for Tom to be at school before now. ‘I don’t mind,’ said the boy. ‘I like it. I want to go. I hated all those French fellows--but they’re different here.’ ‘The first thing they will ask you at Eton is whether you will take a licking,’ said Beaufort; ‘that was how it was in my day.’ ‘I won’t,’ cried Tom; ‘not if it was the biggest fellow in the school. Did you, Beau?’ ‘I can’t remember, it’s so long ago,’ said the stepfather. ‘No, not Richmond, if you please, Car; it’s pretty, but it’s cockney. Sunday excursions spoil all the places about London.’ ‘Windsor? One would still have the river within reach, and rides in the forest without end.’ ‘Windsor still less, Carry my love. It’s a show place. Royal persons always coming and going, and crowds to stare at them. If you love me, no.’ ‘That’s a large argument, Edward. We should not live in the town, of course, and to see the Queen driving about would always be a little excitement.’ ‘Does she drive in a big umbrella like the gentlemen upon the omnibus?’ said Janet, whose eyes had been caught by that wonder. Tom had seen it too, and was full of curiosity, but kept his eye upon Beaufort to see whether he would laugh at the question. ‘Much grander, with gold fringe and a little royal standard flying from the top,’ said Beaufort gravely. ‘You know the Doge at Venice always had an umbrella, and other great princes.’ Tom stared very steadily, with his big, round eyes, to watch for the suspicion of a smile, but, seeing none, ventured, with a little suppressed doubt and defiance of the possibly ‘humbugging’ answer, ‘Who are the men on the omnibuses? They can’t all be princes; they’re just like _cochers_,’ cried Tom. ‘Don’t you trust to appearances, my boy. Did you never hear that the greatest swells drove mail coaches? Not Windsor, Car, not Windsor.’ ‘Surrey, Edward? Guildford, Haslemere, Dorking--somewhere in that direction?’ ‘At Dorking we should be in the way of the battle, Tom.’ ‘I should like that,’ cried the boy; ‘and I suppose _you_ can fire a gun, Beau,’ he added, after a moment’s hesitation, scrutinising his stepfather closely, glad to have the chance of one insult, but something afraid of the response. ‘Tom!’ cried his mother, in a warning tone. ‘More or less,’ said Beaufort languidly; ‘enough to hit a Dutchman if there was one before me--you know they’re very broad. At Guildford people are buried on the top of a hill for the sake of the view. Yes, I think Surrey would do.’ ‘Am I to go to Eton straight off, mother--is that in Surrey? I want to go a good long way off. I don’t want to be near home. You would be coming to see me, and Jan, and kiss me, and call me “Tom,” and make the other fellows laugh.’