I regret to state, however, that there has been, at the Carlton, a distinct aloofness of the members of the Upper House towards me personally, since we came in with so large a majority, in so much that I feel, on entering some of these men’s houses, as if I were breathing air that had passed over ice. On careful consideration over my political ideals, I have lately come to the conclusion (and I have aristocratic precedents for changing my political opinions), that, on receiving my baronetcy, I shall take the first dramatic and telling opportunity to embarrass the Government and go over to the other side of the House. Your affectionate father, POMPEY MALAHIDE.” To which Horace replied by return: “DEAR OLD FATHER, I wish you would not split your verbs so recklessly. To resist the condescension of the new aristocracy in the way you suggest would be, for you, utterly disastrous, both as a matter of good taste and as a dramatic effect--to say nothing of a bid for social distinction. The test of good manners in the highly placed is the capacity for the exercise of extreme insolence without offence to the estimation of the class. What would be a vulgarity in you or me is a splendid airiness in the Prime Minister. Your fine gentleman may seduce a lady’s maid, but must not be seen to cheat at cards. The tears of a seduced woman set the tables of the new nobility a-titter; but to win a guinea by oversharp practice with trumps is to discover the moth amongst the ermine on the cloak of honour. Your courtier’s manners are but gaudy beads strung on a thread of menial subtleties. You have not the practice, my dear father; and would only blunder upon the indecencies. The new aristocracy demands our patience--it takes three hundred years of usage before a family becomes quite used to its own nobility; by that time it is usually bankrupt. It is only possible for a man of birth and unassailable breeding to become a radical without appearing ridiculous. Your affectionate son, HORACE.” CHAPTER XXXIV _Which, to some extent, discloses the Incident of the Sentimental Tea-cups_ Anthony, forestalling the youngster’s fretting for the girl’s companionship, decided to send him up to Oxford at once; but with all haste it was some months before he could go, and the lad, though he stuck manfully to his heavy work with the tutor, became languid and listless and vague. He fretted silently, and was filled with an ugly distrust of those about him. It had brought to him a sudden revelation of the need to stand alone--a revelation that is a part of the heritage of life to all at emergence from youth, but comes to some roughly enough.