He grumbled, and growled a little, half internally, inarticulately, over the imagined and yet scarcely imagined insult. “I never had your confidence in him, Maddie. Too soft, too soft altogether--no backbone. Not half good enough, not half. Well--what had he got to say?” “He has had, as I think, papa, too much time to think it all over; and the conclusion he has come to is---- I don’t think it will please you; and naturally it has not pleased his father.” “Out with it, child!” “He can’t make up his mind--he can’t satisfy his conscience--to go into the business, papa.” Mr Thursley’s answer was a long whistle of astonishment. Words seemed to fail him. He got up and stood before the fire till the glare scorched him. Then he threw himself down into his chair again; and then, finally, in tones half of laughter, half of consternation, “Not go into the business! And what objection has he to the business?” he said. Madeline made no reply. She had not yet found words in which to excuse her lover, and though her heart rebelled against the laugh, she could oppose nothing to the astonishment, the half dismay, half irritation, with which her father spoke. “The young idiot,” said Mr Thursley; “this is quarrelling with his bread and butter with a vengeance. And what does Burton say?” “Mr Burton,” said Madeline, in subdued tones, “is very angry, and perhaps that’s not wonderful----” “Wonderful! Why, what else could he be?” “And says, I believe, that except his present allowance, Gervase is to expect nothing more from him.” “I wonder he stops at that! I’d leave him, if he were mine, to try how he liked it--without any allowance at all.” “No, papa; I am sure you would not--after training him--in a way that was sure to end like this.” “Well, there’s something in that,” said Mr Thursley. “Eton is all very well--and so, no doubt, is Oxford--for scholars or schoolmasters, or people who have nothing to do: but it has always been my maxim, as you know, that a man should be brought up for his business. It’s old Burton that is the biggest fool after all.” “Still,” said Madeline, with a little impatience, “you brought me up in as nearly as possible the same way.” “You! A girl is quite a different matter. I know what you are going to say, my dear; that girls don’t count. That’s not what I mean at all. You’re a very great luxury, Maddie, the greatest luxury a man like me can have. Even to hear you discharge your little arrows at business men, and scorn business ways----” “I never do that,” she cried, hastily. “I have always taught myself to think that a British merchant--should be the highest, the most honourable kind of man.”