“And when have you to be back, dear?” said his mother. She, like many deans’ wives, was a dignified, intelligent, and courteous lady, with many social claims punctually and graciously fulfilled, and a great love of breeding, nice manners, and suitable attire. She had many anxieties, finely restrained. She was anxious lest the Dean should overwork himself and get a bad throat; lest Daphne should get a tooth knocked out at mixed hockey, or a leg broken in the hunting-field; lest Eddy should choose an unsuitable career or an unsuitable wife, or very unsuitable ideas. These were her negative anxieties. Her positive ones were that the Dean should be recognised according to his merits; that Daphne should marry the right man; that Eddy should be a success, and also please his father; that the Prayer Book might be revised very soon. One of her ambitions for Eddy was satisfied forthwith, for he pleased his father. “I’m not going back to St. Gregory’s at all.” The Dean looked up quickly. “Oh, you’ve given that up, have you? Well, it couldn’t go on always, of course.” He wanted to ask, “What have you decided about Orders?” but, as fathers go, he was fairly tactful. Besides, he knew Daphne would. “Are you going into the Church, Tedders?” Her mother, as always when she put it like that, corrected her. “You know father hates you to say that, Daphne. Take Orders.” “Well, take Orders, then. Are you, Tedders?” “I think not,” said Eddy, good-tempered as brothers go. “At present I’ve been offered a small reviewing job on the _Daily Post_. I was rather lucky, because it’s awfully hard to get on the _Post_, and, of course, I’ve had no experience except at Cambridge; but I know Maine, the literary editor. I used to review a good deal for the _Cambridge Weekly_ when his brother ran it. I think it will be rather fun. You get such lots of nice books to keep for your own if you review.” “Nice and otherwise, no doubt,” said the Dean. “You’ll want to get rid of most of them, I expect. Well, reviewing is an interesting side of journalism, of course, if you are going to try journalism. You genuinely feel you want to do this, do you?” He still had hopes that Eddy, once free of the ritualistic set, would become a Broad Church clergyman in time. But clergymen are the broader, he believed, for knocking about the world a little first. Eddy said he did genuinely feel he wanted to do it. “I’m rather keen to do a little writing of my own as well,” he added, “and it will leave me some time for that, as well as time for other work. I want to go sometimes to work in the settlement of a man I know, too.” “What shall you write?” Daphne wanted to know. “Oh, much what every one else writes, I suppose. I leave it to your imagination.” “H’m. Perhaps it will stay there,” Daphne speculated, which was superfluously unkind, considering that Eddy used to write quite a lot at Cambridge, in the _Review_, the _Magazine_, the _Granta_, the _Basileon_, and even the _Tripod_.