There came, however, a time when the claims of the Towers could no longer be ignored. Tom came of age, and Lady Car could no longer combat the necessity of going back to hold the necessary festivities and put him in possession of his lands and his home. Tom had come altogether to blows with his college and all its functionaries by this time, and had been requested to remove himself from the University in a somewhat hasty manner, which he declared loudly was very good fun, but did not perhaps in his secret heart enjoy the joke of so much as he made appear--for he had a great deal of that Scotch pride which cannot bear to fail, even when he had done everything to bring the catastrophe about. He had not met with many reproaches at home, for Lady Car was so convinced of the great futility of anything she could say that, save for the ‘Oh, Tom!’ with which he was received, and the tear which made her eyes more lucid than usual, she made no demonstration at all of her distress. Beaufort looked very grave, but took little notice. ‘It was evident that this must have come sooner or later,’ he said coldly, with a tone in which Tom read contempt. ‘Why did you send me then,’ the young man cried, reddening sullenly, ‘if you knew that this was what must come?’ ‘I suppose your mother sent you--because it is considered necessary for a gentleman,’ Beaufort said. ‘And I suppose you mean I’m not one,’ cried Tom. ‘I never said so,’ his stepfather answered coldly. Janet seized upon her brother’s arm and drew him away. ‘Oh, what is the good of quarrelling with Beau? Did you expect nobody was to say a word?’ cried Janet. ‘Well,’ said Tom, ‘they can’t prevent me coming of age next year, whatever they do: and then I should like to know, who will have any right to say a word?’ ‘Mother will always have a right to say whatever she pleases, Tom.’ ‘Oh, mother!’ he said. Janet shook him by the arm she held. She cried passionately-- ‘I wouldn’t if it had been me. I shouldn’t have let anyone say that what was needed for a gentleman was too much for me. Oh, I would have died sooner!’ Janet said. He shook her off with a muttered oath. ‘Much you know about gentlemen--or ladies either. I know something of you that if I were to tell mother----’ ‘What?’ Janet cried, almost with a shriek. ‘Oh, I know--and if you don’t sing very small I’ll tell; but, mind, I’ll not say Oh Den! like mother. I’ll turn you out of house and home if you carry on with any fellow when you’re with me.’ ‘What do you mean?’ said Janet: but her conscience was too much for her. She could not maintain a bold front. The recollection came burning to her cheeks, and brought a hot flood of tears to her eyes. ‘I only rode the pony. I meant no harm. I didn’t know it was wrong. Oh Tom! Tom, don’t tell mother,’ she cried. ‘You had better behave, then,’ said Tom, ‘and don’t think you can crow over me. I’ve done nothing at all. It’s only those old saps that cannot bear to see a young fellow having his fun.’