ge
mishap. Now they were much together, and occasionally, by a strong
effort, would grace their father's breakfast-table with their
company.

It was not often that he either reproached them or preached to them.
Though he could not live with them on almost equal terms, as some
fathers can live with their sons, though he could not laugh at their
fun or make them laugh at his wit, he knew that it would have been
better both for him and them if he had possessed this capacity.
Though the life which they lived was distasteful to him,--though
racehorses were an abomination to him, and the driving of coaches a
folly, and club-life a manifest waste of time, still he recognised
these things as being, if not necessary, yet unavoidable evils. To
Gerald he would talk about Oxford, avoiding all allusions to past
Cambridge misfortunes; but in the presence of Silverbridge, whose
Oxford career had been so peculiarly unfortunate, he would make no
allusion to either of the universities. To his eldest son he would
talk of Parliament, which of all subjects would have been the most
congenial had they agreed in politics. As it was he could speak more
freely to him on that than any other matter.

One Thursday night as the two brothers went to bed on returning from
the Beargarden, at a not very late hour, they agreed that they would
"give the governor a turn" the next morning,--by which they meant
that they would drag themselves out of bed in time to breakfast with
him. "The worst of it is that he never will let them get anything to
eat," said Gerald. But Silverbridge explained that he had taken that
matter into his own hands, and had specially ordered broiled salmon
and stewed kidneys. "He won't like it, you know," said Gerald. "I'm
sure he thinks it wicked to eat anything but toasted bacon before
lunch."

At a very little after nine Silverbridge was in the breakfast-room,
and there found his father. "I suppose Gerald is not up yet," said
the Duke almost crossly.

"Oh yes he is, sir. He'll be here directly."

"Have you seen him this morning?"

"No; I haven't seen him. But I know he'll be here. He said he would,
last night."

"You speak of it as if it were an undertaking."

"No, not that, sir. But we are not always quite up to time."

"No; indeed you are not. Perhaps you sit late at the House."

"Sometimes I do," said the young member, with a feeling almost akin
to shame as he remembered all the hours spent at the Beargarden. "I