“Simply because you could not reduce yourself to the mere level of a piece of mechanism,--a thing wound up at Downing Street, to go 'down' as it reached Vienna. To you life should present, with its changes of fortune, its variety, its adventures, and its rewards. Men like you confront dangers, but are always conquered by mere drudgery. Am I right?” “Perhaps there is something in that.” “Don't fancy that I am talking at hazard; I have myself felt the very thing I am telling you of; and I could no more have begun life as a Cabinet postboy, than I could have taken to stone-breaking.” “You seem to forget that there is a class of people in this world whom a wise proverb declares are not to be choosers.” “There never was a sillier adage. It assumes that because a man is poor he must remain poor. It presumes to affirm that no one can alter his condition. And who are the successful in life? The men who have energy to will it,--the fellows who choose their place, and insist upon taking it. Let me assure you, Butler, you are one of these, if you could only throw off your humility and believe it. Only resolve to join us, and I 'll give you any odds you like that I am a true prophet; at all events, turn it over in your mind; give it a fair consideration,--of course, I mean your own consideration, for it is one of those things a man cannot consult his mother upon; and when we meet again, which will not be for a few days, as I leave for a short absence to-morrow, you 'll give me your answer.” “What day do you expect to be back here?” “I hope, by Saturday; indeed, I can safely say by Saturday.” “By that time I shall have made up my mind. Goodbye.” “The mind is made up already,” mattered Maitland, as he moved away,--“I have him.” CHAPTER XVIII. ON THE ROAD A great moralist and a profound thinker has left it on record that there were few pleasanter sensations than those of being whirled rapidly along a good road at the top speed of a pair of posters. Whether, had he lived in our age of express trains, the “rail” might not have qualified the judgment is not so sure. One thing is, however, certain,--the charm of a brisk drive on a fine breezy morning, along a bold coast, with a very beautiful woman for a companion, is one that belongs to all eras, independent of broad gauges and narrow, and deriving none of its enjoyment from steam or science. Maitland was to know this now in all its ecstasy, as he drove off from Lyle Abbey with Mrs. Trafford. There was something of gala in the equipage,--the four dappled grays with pink roses at their heads, the smartly dressed servants, and, more than all, the lovely widow herself, most becomingly dressed in a costume which, by favor of the climate, could combine furs with lace,--that forcibly struck him as resembling the accompaniments of a wedding; and he smiled at the pleasant conceit. “What is it amuses you, Mr. Maitland?” said she, unable to repress her curiosity.