Unfortunately, however, he had not the faculty of passing examinations. He was not exactly stupid or idle, but any kind of study was a bore to him, and the knowledge he was forced to 'get up' was not an acquisition that gave him the slightest satisfaction for its own sake, or that he desired to increase beyond what would carry him through. Naturally, he had more cleverness than his uncle, and learning was less difficult to him, but he only used his ability to be sooner done with a distasteful task, which never occupied his mind for a moment after it was thrown aside. Thus time after time he had failed in passing for the army, and now only one chance remained before being reduced to attempting to enter the militia. And suppose that there he failed? He remained in an amiable, passive, good-humoured state, rather amused than otherwise at his mother's impression that it was somehow all his uncle's fault, and ready to be disposed of exactly as they pleased provided that he had not the trouble of thinking about it or of working extra hard. Mrs. Morton was sure that something could be done. Could not his uncle send him to Oxford? Then he could be a clergyman, or a lawyer or anything. Oh dear, were there those horrid examinations there too? And then those gentlemen that belonged to the ambassadors and envoys--she was sure Mr. Rollstone had told her any one who had connection could get that sort of appointment to what they called the Civil Service. What, examinations again? connection no good? Well, it was shame! What would things come to? As Mr Rollstone said, it was mere ruin! Merchant's office? Bah! such a gentleman as her Herbert was, so connected! What was his uncle thinking of, taking him up to put him down in that way? It was hard. And Lord Northmoor was thankful to the tears that as usual choked her, while he begged her at present to trust to that last chance. It would be time to think what was to come next if that failed. Wherewith the victim passed the window whistling merrily, apparently perfectly regardless of his doom, be it what it might, and with Mite clinging to his hand in ecstatic admiration. Constance too was in question. Here she was at eighteen, a ladylike, pleasant, good girl, very nice-looking, sweet-faced, and thoughtful, having finished her course at the High School with great credit, but alas! it was not in the family to win scholarships. She did things well, but not so brilliantly as cleverer girls, having something of her uncle's tardiness of power. Her determination to be a governess was as decided as ever, and it was first brought before her mother by an offer on Lady Adela's part to begin with her at once for Amice, who was now eleven years old. 'Really, now!' said Mrs. Morton, stopping short to express her offence. 'That is--' added Ida, equally at a loss. 'But what do you mean, mamma?' said Constance. 'I always intended to be a teacher; I think it noble, useful work.'