‘And the beggars on horseback, having filled their purses out of some tobacco-shop, or grog-shop, or shoddy-shop, put their thumbs in the arm-holes of their waistcoats, lean back in their carriages, and think themselves the pick of mankind, till a lord comes their way, and then they bow down in the dust before him--that is, if he’s richer than they are.’ Alec was getting a little tired of his friend’s cynicism, so he rose to go. ‘I don’t believe it,’ said he to himself, as he made his way home. ‘There are plenty of fellows, fellows who have got on too, who wouldn’t do a dirty thing to save their lives. If it is impossible--well, so be it.’ William Beattie was soured by disappointment. He would not allow for the natural advantages which those before him in the race derived from wealth and business connections. He hated his employers, because they showed no disposition to ‘give him his articles,’ and make him a member of the firm. He greatly longed to throw up his post and try to find a nearer road to wealth, but this he did not dare to do. As for his sneers at ‘beggars on horseback,’ they were simply due to envy. CHAPTER XVII. AN UNCONVENTIONAL GUEST. When Hubert Blake returned to Highgate after his hurried journey to Scotland, it was evident to Sophy’s eyes that something had happened to him. Before he went north he was bright and full of spirits. Now he was listless, moody, and unsociable. If he had been his own master, he would not have gone back to London at all. He would have set off at once for another long, aimless tour. But he felt that something was due to his uncle, and shortly after he left the Castle Farm, he made his appearance without warning at Grove House. ‘Why didn’t you write and say you were coming?’ asked old Mr. Blake, in his usual peevish tone. ‘Really, sir, I didn’t think of it. I didn’t suppose it mattered.’ ‘One always likes to know when anything is going to happen,’ said the old man, half offended at his nephew’s want of courtesy. And Hubert, totally unconscious that he had given any offence, sauntered out into the garden. Sophy was there, sitting on her favourite garden-seat, and as Hubert came forward she rose to meet him, with a smile on her face. ‘Well, Sophy,’ was his greeting, as he sat down beside her, ‘how have you been getting on?’ ‘Exactly as usual. And you?’ ‘Oh, I? Well; I found that the matter I went to Scotland about had got settled without my intervention, as things have a habit of doing if you only let them alone. So I stayed a few days at the farm; and then I came back. That’s all.’ ‘You might have told us you were coming.’ ‘So my uncle said to me. Perhaps it would have been more polite; but what’s the use of making a fuss? My coming or going isn’t a thing of so much importance.’