“Pity him—only pity him!” exclaimed Eva, laughing; “the poor young man has to make up his mind within the next twelve months whether he will be a lawyer or a clergyman. There’s yet a doctor, Gilbert. Why don’t you try medicine?” “Pah! nasty messy work! Do you think I’d be at the call of every hysterical girl or hypochondriac old bachelor, pottering about from one stuffy room to another, with nothing to relieve the tedium but an occasional dish of scandal?” “Have a care!” cried Mark; “the day may come when you shall need the help of Æsculapius yourself. For my part, I think no one more admirable than the true doctor, who often in the exercise of his art can ‘minister to the mind diseased,’ and, when all other hope is gone, can point the way to hope in heaven.” “I believe, Mark,” said Gilbert, in disgust, “that you would find something to say in favour of an undertaker.” “Perhaps I could; but as neither of us is called to weigh the pros and cons of that extremely useful calling, I confess I have not given it due consideration. You have the choice of the Church and the Bar, I of the Church or the Civil Service. I suppose, whichever we choose, we are neither of us to be pitied?” “Bother your optimism! I believe it is your horrible contentedness that drives me into pessimism! I believe you would have me think that you enjoy dragging along through these woods at the heels of a couple of girls!” “You can think what you please, Gilbert, it will not affect my comfort. I shouldn’t enjoy dragging at the heels of St. Maur or Tullietudlem, so let us agree to differ and wish each other a good morning. The woods at least are cooler than the high road, and as Eva is bent on having a specimen of Dame Venus’s fly-trap, we may have far to go.” “And, pray, what may Venus’s fly-trap be?” said Gilbert, who never had any particular taste for his own company. “I’ll show you, if we are lucky enough to find one,” cried Eva, following her brother into the wood. Elgitha stopped to give Dusty a farewell hug, then plunged after them, and Gilbert was left to his own devices. He slowly resumed his way, the sweetness of his temper not increased by the encounter, for though he affected to despise the company of girls, it was not pleasant to find them indifferent to him, and, sneer at Mark as he would, his frank, happy face filled him with envy. Mark, of course, must decide on his calling before long. Whatever his decision, he must make his own way; his mother could give him no artificial support; it was very wise of him to make the best of it. Of course, if his pater had lived, things would have been very different, and Mark would have been—well, probably just like his present self, and would have found everything a “confounded bore.” And so _post equitem sedet atra cura_, and the lad of nineteen is handicapped with a heavy heart, in spite of his good father, his high-born and doting mother—in spite of his most expensive education and a moderate fortune in prospect.