‘It would certainly cost money,’ replied the earl. ‘But I would put it to you in this way--or, rather, this is the way in which it should be put to the boy himself. I understand he has some money; well, he can make no better investment of a portion of it than by spending it on his education. Two or three years at Oxford will fit him for the life of a man of letters as nothing else would. He need not be extravagant--two hundred pounds a year should suffice him.’ Mr. Pepperdine listened to this with obvious perplexity and unrest. He hesitated a little before making any reply. At last he looked at the earl with the expression of a man who is going to confess something. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I’ll tell your lordship what nobody else knows--not even my sisters. I’m sure your lordship’ll say naught to nobody about it. My lord, the lad hasn’t a penny. He never had. Your lordship knows that his father sent for me when he was dying in London--he’d just come back, with the boy, from Italy--and he put Lucian in my care. He’d made a will and I was trustee and executor. He thought that there was sufficient provision made for the boy, but he hadn’t been well advised--he’d put all his eggs in one basket--the money was all invested in a building society in Rome, and every penny of it was lost. I did hear,’ affirmed Mr. Pepperdine solemnly, ‘that the Pope of Rome himself lost a deal of money at the same time and in the same society.’ ‘That’s quite true,’ said the earl. ‘I remember it very well. ‘Well, there it was,’ continued Mr. Pepperdine. ‘It was gone for ever--there wasn’t a penny saved. I never said naught to my sisters, you know, my lord, because I didn’t want ’em to know. I never said nothing to the boy, either--and he’s the sort of lad that would never ask. He’s a bit of a child in money matters--his father (but your lordship’ll remember him as well as I do) had always let him have all he wanted, and----’ ‘And his uncle has followed in his father’s lines, eh?’ said the earl, with a smile that was neither cynical nor unfriendly. ‘Well, then, Pepperdine, I understand that the lad has been at your charges all this time as regards everything--I suppose you’ve paid Mr. Chilverstone, too?’ Mr. Pepperdine waved his hands. ‘There’s naught to talk of, my lord,’ he said. ‘I’ve no children, and never shall have. I never were a marrying sort, and the lad’s been welcome. And if it had been in my power he should have gone to Oxford; but, my lord, there’s been that happened within this last day or so that’s brought me nigh to ruin. It was that that I wanted to see your lordship about--it’s a poor sort of tale for anybody’s ears, but your lordship would have to hear it some time or other. You see, my lord’--and Mr. Pepperdine, with praiseworthy directness and simplicity, set forth the story of his woes.