"Where are you going?" asked his mother in alarm.

"Oh, Lord, only to school. That's what makes a scene like this so funny.
After I've worked myself up and made you angry----"

"Not angry, dear. Only grieved," interrupted his mother.

"You were more than grieved when you said I was vulgar. At least I hope
you were. But, after it's all over, I go trotting off like a good
little boy to school--to school--to school. Oh, mother, what is the good
of expecting me to believe in the finest fellows in the world being
killed, while I'm still at school? What's the good of making me more
wretched, more discontented, more alive to my own futile existence by
asking me now, when he's going away, to make friends with Lord Saxby?
Oh, darling mother, can't you realize that I'm no longer a little boy
who wants to clap his hands at the sight of a red coat? Let me kiss you,
mother, I'm sorry I was vulgar, but I've minded so dreadfully about
Captain Ross, and it's all for nothing."

Mrs. Fane let herself be petted by her son, but she did not again ask
Michael to see Lord Saxby before he went away to the war.

Alan was still absent at afternoon school, and Michael, disdaining his
place in the heroic group, passed quickly into the class-room and read
in Alison of Salamanca and Albuera and of the storming of Badajoz,
wondering what had happened to his country since those famous dates. He
supposed that then was the nation's zenith, for from what he could make
out of the Crimean War, that had been as little creditable to England as
this miserable business of the present.

In the afternoon Michael thought he would walk over to Notting Dale and
see Mr. Viner--perhaps he would understand some of his indignation--and
this evening when all was quiet he must write to Mrs. Ross. On his way
down the Kensington Road he met Wilmot, whom he had not seen since the
summer, for luckily about the time of the row Wilmot had been going
abroad and was only lately back. He recognized Wilmot's fanciful walk
from a distance, and nearly crossed over to the opposite pavement to
avoid meeting him; but on second thoughts decided he would like to hear
a fresh opinion of the war.

"Why, here's a delightful meeting," said Wilmot, "I have been wondering
why you didn't come round to see me. You got my cards?"

"Oh, yes, rather," said Michael.

"I have been in Greece and Italy. I wish you had been with me. I thought
of you, as I sat in the ruined rose-gardens of Paest