"My dear mother, I never had any affection for politics; and unless a man could be a modern Pitt, I don't see the use of that kind of thing. Every young Englishman turns his face towards the House of Commons, as the sunflower turns to the sun-god; and see what a charming level of mediocrity we enjoy in consequence thereof." "Anything that would occupy your mind, George," remonstrated Mrs. Fairfax. "The question is, whether I have any mind to be occupied, mother," replied the young man with a laugh. "I think the average modern intellect, when it knows its own capacity, rarely soars above billiards. That is a science; and what can a man be more than scientific?" "It is so easy to laugh the subject down in that way, George," returned the mother with a sigh. "But a man has duties to perform." "Surely not a man with an estate like this, mother! I can never understand that talk about the duties of a rich man, except to pay his income-tax properly. A fellow with a wife and children, and no income to speak of, has duties, of course--imprimis, the duty of working for his belongings; but what are the privileges of wealth, if one may not take life as one pleases?" "Oh, George, George, I used to hope such great things of you!" "The fond delusion common to maternity, my dearest mother. A brat learns his A B C a shade quicker than other children, or construes _Qui fit Maecenas_ with tolerable correctness; and straightway the doting mother thinks her lad is an embryo Canning. You should never have hoped anything of me, except that I would love you dearly all my life. You have made that very easy to me." Mr. Fairfax took his portmanteau and departed, leaving his servant to carry the rest of his luggage straight to Paris, and await his master's arrival at one of the hotels in the Rue de Rivoli. The master himself took a somewhat circuitous route, and began his journey to the Black Forest by going down to Holborough. "I can take a steamer from Hull to Hamburg," he said to himself, "and push on from there to Carlsruhe." He wanted to see Clarissa again. He knew that she was at Arden Court, and that Lady Laura Armstrong was not at Hale Castle. He wanted to see her; his ulterior views were of the vaguest; but that passionate yearning to see her, to hear the sweet winning voice, to look into the soft hazel eyes, was strong upon him. It was a year since the day he dined in Clarges-street; and in all that year he had done his uttermost to forget her, had hated himself for the weakness which made her still dearer to him than any other woman; and then, alike angry with her and with himself, had cried, with Wilmot Earl of Rochester,-- "Such charms by nature you possess, 'Twere madness not to love you."