‘I have come to depend upon your companionship more than I ever have on that of any man of your age. It is a pleasure and entertainment to me—I had almost said a solace. For we portly old bachelors have our hours of regret, you know, for the family life which, for some reason good or bad, or from no reason at all but our own laziness, we rejected, or missed, in our earlier years. There comes a time to most of us when, if a man is wholesome, his heart in the right place, he grows tired of living for and by himself, and begins to look to the second generation, to sons and daughters, for his interest and hold on life. A risky time!—Some old fools try to retrieve the position by marrying. That form of senile dementia, thank heaven! has not attacked me as yet. But I own I like having young people about me. And specially, Brownlow, I like having you in and out of my house. So, my good fellow, be prepared to pack up your traps by this day week, and start with us for Bath. We shall take a post-chaise as well as my carriage, and make a two days’ journey of it.’ His affection touched me deeply, the more so that I could not disguise from myself the meaning and purpose of that which he said. It was an invitation, surely, to declare myself in respect of Alice Dynevor, an assurance that such a declaration had his approval and support. I was both embarrassed and troubled by self-reproach. Immediately, however, my course of action was clear. I told him, with many expressions of genuine sorrow, that it was impossible for me to accompany the party to Bath, since I had already promised to spend the vacation with friends in the country—friends whom I had known when I was at Hover. The promise was of long standing, one which, without flagrant discourtesy, I could not break. Though evidently disappointed, and even a little vexed, he admitted the justice of what I said. ‘Well, well; perhaps, though you cannot go with us, you can join us at Bath for a week before our return.’ And he asked me one or two questions about these Yorkshire friends, which fortunately I could answer without making any mention of Nellie. I walked back to my College deep in thought. For, clearly, I must not play with the situation any longer. I must arrive at a final decision. I must pull myself together and refuse to drift. Once and for all I must know my own mind. But to do so I must see Nellie Braithwaite first. CHAPTER XXIX.