“Well,” said Mr. Dalyell, “that’s what may happen to any one of you whose fathers are in business. You ought to remember that such a contingency is always on the cards.” “Why, father----!” cried Fred. The boy was unwilling to make any application, to seem to think that there could be anything in their own circumstances to suggest this conversation: but he threw an involuntary glance at the house behind him with all its cheerful lights, and at the dark clouds of trees all round in the distance, which marked the great extent of the park and woods of Yalton. He did not add a word, and indeed the whole movement was involuntary--a sort of appeal from the lugubrious remarks on one side to all these unending signs of wealth on the other. “You mean to say there’s Yalton; and though I’m in business, I’m not all in business,” said Mr. Dalyell with a laugh. “I was not speaking of ourselves, my boy; but of the vicissitudes of life. I hope there will be Dalyells of Yalton as long as Edinburgh Castle stands upon a rock; and one can’t say more than that. Still, there are wonderful changes in life, and I’d like to think--if you force me to an application--that you were up to anything that might happen. You’d have to take the command, you know, Fred,” he added after a moment, knocking the ash off his cigar against the balustrade of the terrace, with another curious laugh. “Your dear mother has never been used to anything but to be taken care of. You had better not bother her by asking advice from her if you should ever be in that position.” “I wish you would not say such dreadful things,” said Fred petulantly. “Why should we talk of what I hope to heaven will never happen?--you make me quite uncomfortable, papa.” “Well, my dear boy,” said Mr. Dalyell, “that’s the penalty, don’t you know, of being grown up--like shaving, and other disadvantages. You rather like the shaving--which implies an imaginary beard: but you don’t like to hear of the much more important responsibilities.” “Shaving’s inevitable,” said Fred, giving a little furtive twirl to an almost imaginary moustache. “Oh, is it?” said his father, with a more cheerful laugh. “Not for years yet; don’t flatter yourself. When do you start for your ball to-morrow? It’s fine to be an eligible young man, and sought after for all the dances. That’s a pleasant consequence of being a ‘Varsity man, and heir of Yalton, eh?” “Well, father,” said Fred, “seeing I’ve known the Scrymgeours all my life, we needn’t put it on that ground. Whatever I was--if I was heir to nothing--it would be the same to them.”