ving himself
to make a statement which he felt would come upon his uncle as a far
from gratifying surprise--he had put it off from time to time, out of
weakness, or, as he had told himself, from diplomacy. Now he could do
so no longer. Uncle Solomon had hinted terrible things in his letter
of a certain brief with which his own solicitor was to entrust the
brand-new barrister the morning after his call! But for this, Mark
might have let things drift, as he would strongly have preferred to
do, but this threat of immediate employment drove him to declare
himself. He firmly believed that his true vocation was the one he had
secured at such cost to his self-respect; he was willing enough to
bear the title of barrister, but he had no intention of devoting
himself seriously to the profession; he saw little more attraction in
the Bar than in teaching, and the most self-confident man might have
recoiled at having work thrust into his hands before he had undergone
the slightest practical training for conducting it. And Mark's
imagination saw his first brief bringing others in its train, until he
should sink in a sea of blue foolscap, helpless and entangled in
clinging tentacles of red-tape. Perhaps this was a groundless alarm,
but he had planned out a particular career for himself, a career of
going about and observing (and it is well known that what a man of
genius calls 'observing' is uncommonly like ordinary people's
enjoyment), being famous and flattered, and sitting down in moments of
inspiration to compose with a clear head and a mind unhampered by all
other considerations. Now the responsibility of legal work _would_
hamper him--he felt his muse to be of that jealous disposition which
will suffer no rival--if he meant to be free at all, he must strike
the blow at once. And so, as has been said, he was not at his ease.

Mr. Lightowler appeared as St. Clement Danes struck half-past one; he
was in high good-humour, jubilant, and ruddy. 'Well, Master
Barrister,' he said, chuckling; 'to think o' my living to see you
figurin' about in a wig and gown--you must cut off that moustache of
yours, though, Mark: none of the young barrister fellows I see goin'
up in the train of a mornin' wear 'em. I'm told the judges don't
consider too much 'air respectful, hey? Well, s'pose we go in and have
a bit of something, eh? The "Cock" is it? Ah, I haven't been in
here--I haven't been in here not since I was a young man "on the
road," as we us