There was one unsuccessful event in their holidays, that was the visit to John's uncle. Mr. Dean went, John thought, from a spirit of duty rather than pleasure. John had only seen his uncle once, when he had come to the school on Prize Day and had treated John as a child of five and adopted an air of patronage towards his father, which the boy deeply resented. They had not responded to each other in a single detail. "Just like his father," said Sir Henry to his wife, the next day, "as impractical as Charles and as wayward. The boy wants strong handling. I told his house-master so." He had departed without asking John home for the holidays, greatly to John's relief, for he would have gone in a spirit of martyrdom. John felt he was resented because he was his father's son. It must be galling to the uncle with no sons and two daughters, to know, unless he was more fortunate, that his nephew would inherit the title. It was the one unsuccessful fact in Sir Henry's life. He could and did ignore his brother, but hang it, he could not ignore his brother's son. He never read without anger in the Baronetage, "Heir-presumptive, Charles Dean q.v." and q.v. led him to John Narcissus Dean. Narcissus! What a preposterous name to give a boy--to an heir! Their visit did not improve the mutual opinion. Charles Dean resented his brother's air of patronage, his smug self-satisfaction, his ill-disguised vanity over his estates which somehow he seemed to attribute to his own ability. Four tedious days, in which every minute held the possibility of friction, brought the visit to an end. John's father did not say much afterwards, but John realised all he thought. Once only did he reveal in words what John surmised. "I hope you will never have cause to ask help from any relations--stand on your own feet, John," he said. John accompanied his father down to Southampton. It seemed almost impossible that this was the end, that he would not see him again for two years. How far away was Amasia--and now that they were together, so closely together, it seemed as if they had never been apart. "Two more years, John--and I shall have a directorship here--it won't be long, old son--you're seventeen and time flies at that age." They stood at the top of the gangway. A gong was sounding, and an officer came down the deck. "Visitors ashore, please!" he shouted. Father and son grasped hands. It was a long tight grip, with John trying to look squarely into his father's eyes, summoning a stiff lip to his aid, the father simply saying, "Good-bye, dear lad." "Good-bye, Father."