ris and the Boulevards, or a palace in the Piazza di Spagna at
Rome; or perhaps the Chiaja at Naples would be public enough? Is it that
I may parade disgrace and infamy through Europe that I should leave this
solitude?"

"I want to see you in a better climate, Glencore,--in a place where the
sun shines occasionally."

"This suits me," said the other, bluntly; "and here I have the security
that none can invade,--none molest me. But it is not of myself I wish to
speak,--it is of my boy."

Harcourt made no reply, but sat patiently to listen to what was coming.

"It is time to think of him," added Glencore, slowly. "The other
day,--it seems but the other day,--and he was a mere child; a few years
more,--to seem when past like a long dreary night,--and he will be a
man."

"Very true," said Harcourt; "and Charley is one of those fellows who
only make one plunge from the boy into all the responsibilities of
manhood. Throw him into a college at Oxford, or the mess of a regiment
to-morrow, and this day week you'll not know him from the rest."

Glencore was silent; if he had heard, he never noticed Harcourt's
remark.

"Has he ever spoken to you about himself, Harcourt?" asked he, after a
pause.

"Never, except when I led the subject in that direction; and even then
reluctantly, as though it were a topic he would avoid."

"Have you discovered any strong inclination in him for a particular kind
of life, or any career in preference to another?"

"None; and if I were only to credit what I see of him, I 'd say that
this dull monotony and this dreary uneventful existence is what he likes
best of all the world."

"You really think so?" cried Glencore, with an eagerness that seemed out
of proportion to the remark.

"So far as I see," rejoined Harcourt, guardedly, and not wishing to let
his observation carry graver consequences than he might suspect.

"So that you deem him capable of passing a life of a quiet, unambitious
tenor,--neither seeking for distinctions nor fretting after honors?"

"How should he know of their existence, Glencore? What has the boy ever
heard of life and its struggles? It's not in Homer or Sallust he 'd
learn the strife of parties and public men."

"And why need he ever know them?" broke in Glencore, fiercely.

"If he doesn't know them now, he's sure to be taught them hereafter. A
young fellow who will succeed to a title and a good fortune--"

"Stop, Harcourt!" cried Glencore, passionately. "H