It was with sincere pride Mrs. Butler saw her son in such favor at the great house,--that princely place to which the company came from remote parts of the kingdom, and to mix with which the neighboring gentry were only admitted sparingly and at rare intervals; for Sir Arthur's wealth was to society a sort of crushing power, a kind of social Nasmyth hammer, that smashed and ground down whatever came beneath it. No small distinction was it, therefore, for the widow's son to be there; not merely admitted and on sufferance, but encouraged, liked, and made much of. Sir Arthur had known Tony's father in India, long long years ago; indeed, it was when Sir Arthur was a very small civil servant, and Captain Butler was a gorgeous aide-de-camp on the Governor-General's staff; and strange it was, the respect with which the brilliant soldier then inspired him had survived through all the changes and advancements of a successful life, and the likeness the youth bore to his father assisted to strengthen this sentiment. He would have noticed the widow, too, if she had been disposed to accept his attentions; but she refused all invitations to leave her home, and save at the little meeting-house on a Sunday, where her friend Dr. Stewart held forth, was never seen beyond the paling of her garden. What career Tony was to follow, what he was to do, was an oft-debated question between her and Dr. Stewart, her worthy adviser in spirituals; and though it was the ever-recurring subject as they sat of an evening in the porch, the solution seemed just as remote as ever,--Mrs. Butler averring that there was nothing that with a little practice he could n't do, and the minister sighingly protesting that the world was very full just now, and there was just barely enough for those who were in it. “What does he incline to himself, madam?” asked the worthy man, as he saw that his speech had rather a discouraging effect. “He'd like to follow his father's career, and be a soldier.” “Oh, dear!” sighed out the minister; “a man must be rich enough to do without a livelihood that takes to that one. What would you say to the sea?” “He's too old for the navy. Tony will be twenty in August.” The minister would have liked to hint that other ships went down into the “great waters” as well as those that carried her Majesty's bunting, but he was faint-hearted and silent. “I take it,” said he, after a pause, “that he has no great mind for the learned professions, as they call them?” “No inclination whatever, and I cannot say I 'm sorry for it. My poor boy would be lost in that great ocean of world-liness and self-seeking. I don't mean if he were to go into the Church,” said she, blushing crimson at the awkwardness of her speech, “but you know he has no vocation for holy orders, and such a choice would be therefore impossible.” “I'm thinking it would not be his line, neither,” said the old man, dryly. “What o' the mercantile pursuits? You shake your head. Well, there's farming?”