“No; it is your future I want to discuss, if you don’t mind.” “My future is wrapped in a cloud of doubt,” replied the young man, dreamily. “Were the Church differently constituted—were the minds that rule in it of a larger cast, a wider grasp, a——” “Harrington, how would you like the law as a profession?” Theodore asked abruptly, when the other began to hesitate. “My dear fellow, it is all very well to ask me that question, when you know there is no room for me in my father’s office,” retorted Harrington, with a contemptuous wave of that long, lean white hand, which always reminded him of St. Francis de Sales or Savonarola; not that he had any positive knowledge of what those saintly hands were like. “Room might be made for you,” said Theodore. “I should not care to accept a subordinate position—Aut Cæsar——” “So far as the Cæsar-ship of a provincial solicitor’s office can go the whole empire may be yours by-and-by, if you like—provided you put your shoulder to the wheel and pass your examinations.” “Do you mean to say that you would throw up your position—and an income which would allow of your marrying to-morrow, if you chose—to make room for me?” “If I can get my father’s consent, yes, decidedly.” “And how do you propose to exist without a profession?” “I don’t propose anything of the kind. I mean to go to the Bar.” “Oh, I begin to understand. A solicitor’s office is not good enough for you?” “I don’t say that; but I have taken a disgust—an unreasonable disgust, no doubt—to that branch of the law, and I am very sick of Dorchester.” “So am I,” retorted Harrington, gazing vaguely at a pretty nursemaid. “We are agreed there at any rate. And you want to follow in Lord Cheriton’s track, and make a great name?” “It is only one in a thousand who succeeds as James Dalbrook has succeeded; but if I go to the Bar you may be sure I shall do my best to get on; and I shall start with a pretty good knowledge of common law.” “You want to be in London—you are pining for an æsthetic centre,” sighed Harrington. “I don’t quite know what that is, but I should prefer London to Dorchester.” “So should I—and you want me to take your place at the mill; to grind out my soul in the dull round that has sickened you.” “The life has begun to pall upon me, but I think it ought to suit you,” answered Theodore, thoughtfully. “You are fonder of home—and of the sisters—than I am. You get on better with them.” “You have been rather grumpy lately, I admit,” said Harrington. “And you have let yourself cool upon your Divinity exam. You evidently don’t mean the Church?” “I have outgrown the Church. You can’t put a quart of wine into a pint bottle.”