, something
that was no longer indignation, nor anger, nor the shock of discovery,
something that had a tremor perhaps of pleasure in it, behind. But John
was far too experienced a man not to read the boy through and through.
He liked him better in the first phase, but this was natural too.

"It happens very strangely," he said, "that all these things should
come upon you at once: but it is well you should know now all about it.
Lomond is the second title of the Comptons, Earls of St. Serf. Haven't I
heard you ask what Comptons you belonged to, Philip? It has all happened
within a day or two. Your father was only Philip Compton yesterday at
the trial, and a poor man. Now he is Lord St. Serf, if not rich, at
least no longer poor. Everything has changed for you--your position,
your importance in the world. The last Lord Lomond bore the name
creditably enough. I hope you will make it shine." He took the boy by
the hand and grasped it heartily again. "I am thankful for it," said
John. "I would rather you were Lord Lomond than----"

"What! Uncle John?"

"Steady, boy. I was going to say Philip Compton's son; but Lord St. Serf
is another man."

There was a long pause in the room where John Tatham's life was centred
among his books. He had so much to do with all this business, and yet so
little. It would pass away with all its tumults, and he after being
absorbed by it for a moment would be left alone to his own thoughts and
his own unbroken line of existence. So much the better! It is not good
for any man to be swept up and put down again at the will of others in
matters in which he has no share. As for Philip, he was silent chiefly
to realise this great thing that had come upon him. He, Lord Lomond,
a peer's son, who was only Pippo of Lakeside like any other lad in
the parish, and not half so important at school as Musgrave, who did not
get that scholarship. What the school would say! the tempest that would
arise! They would ask a holiday, and the head master would grant it.
Compton a lord! Philip could hear the roar and rustle among the boys,
the scornful incredulity, the asseverations of those who knew it was
true. And a flush that was pleasure had come over his musing face. It
would have been strange if in the wonder of it there had not been some
pleasure too.

He had begun to tolerate his father before many days were over, to
cease to be indignant and angry that he was not the ideal father of his
dreams. That was no