ed, or his potatoes did not come up
properly.

But he felt no sympathy with his son. It never occurred to him to
think of the agony with which those few lines had been written; of
the wretchedness of the young heart which had hoped so much and
failed so greatly; of the misery which the son felt in disappointing
the father. He was a good, kind parent, who spent his long days and
longer nights in thinking of his family and their welfare; he would,
too, have greatly triumphed in the triumph of his son; but it went
beyond his power of heart to sympathize with him in his misery.

"Do not seem to be vexed with him when he comes home," said the
mother.

"Vexed with him! you mean angry. Of course, I'm not angry. He has
done his best, I suppose. It's unlucky, that's all."

And then the breakfast was continued in silence.

"I don't know what he's to do," said the father, after awhile; "he'll
have to take a curacy, I suppose."

"I thought he meant to stop up at Oxford and take pupils," said Mary.

"I don't know that he can get pupils now. Besides, he'll not have a
fellowship to help him."

"Won't he get a fellowship at all, papa?"

"Very probably not, I should think." And then the family finished
their meal in silence.

It certainly is not pleasant to have one's hopes disappointed; but
Mr. Wilkinson was hardly just in allowing himself to be so extremely
put about by his son's failure in getting the highest honours. Did
he remember what other fathers feel when their sons are plucked? or,
did he reflect that Arthur had, at any rate, done much better than
nineteen out of every twenty young men that go up to Oxford? But then
Mr. Wilkinson had a double cause for grief. Had George Bertram failed
also, he might perhaps have borne it better.

As soon as the letter had been written and made up, Wilkinson
suffered himself to be led out of the room.

"And now for Parker's," said Bertram; "you will be glad to see
Harcourt."

"Indeed, I shall not. Harcourt's all very well; but just at present,
I would much rather see nobody."

"Well, then, he'll be glad to see you; and that will be quite the
same thing. Come along."

Mr. Harcourt was a young barrister but lately called to the bar, who
had been at Oxford spending his last year when Bertram and Wilkinson
were freshmen; and having been at Bertram's college, he had been
intimate with both of them. He was now beginning to practise, and men
said that he was to rise in the world.