"No," Mr. Wycherly said decidedly, "not the best kinds, but it sometimes happens that one can buy useful things that help—to a certain degree—in obtaining happiness: and it is those useful things I hope to buy." "Useful things," Montagu repeated in a disappointed tone, "like pinafores? Those sort of things wouldn’t make _me_ happy." Montagu loathed the blue pinafores enforced by Miss Esperance, and considered it a degradation to wear one. "I’m not sure that I shall buy pinafores," said Mr. Wycherly; "they are not the only useful things in the world." "Useful things are always dull," Montagu persisted. "On the contrary," Mr. Wycherly replied, "useful things are sometimes full of the most exquisite romance." That day early after lunch he called upon Lady Alicia Carruthers. She was at home and alone, and he stayed with her nearly all the afternoon. Lady Alicia would not let him go till he had had a cup of tea, and this marked an epoch in the life of Mr. Wycherly at Remote, for it was the first time he had broken bread in a neighbour’s house. Shortly after this he astonished his relatives by suddenly demanding entire control of his property. He sent for the family lawyer, a certain Mr. Woodhouse, and went into his affairs with a thoroughness and an amount of legal acumen that quite amazed that worthy man. Mr. Wycherly’s brothers were by no means pleased. For many years—ever since he had, much against their will, and in direct opposition to the advice and warnings showered upon him, resigned his fellowship and withdrawn himself finally from the scene of all his former interests—he had been well content to spend about half his little income while the remainder accumulated under their careful stewardship, presumably for their benefit and that of their children. He had asked no questions and appeared, as indeed he was, quite contented with the arrangement. So entirely had he accepted existing conditions, that when he wanted money in a hurry, in order to see that Miss Esperance and the children should make the journey in decent comfort, he had sold his most precious books instead of telegraphing to his solicitor. But with the advent of Archie’s children Mr. Wycherly was completely shaken out of his groove. His humble desire to hide his shame from the eyes of men (for to him, even in times when occasional excess was regarded by the majority less severely than it is now, it meant disgrace and dishonour) gave way to the more ardent desire that these boys might take their place in the world he had left; see, and be seen, and, if possible, seize all the opportunities that he himself had thrown away.