s, it could not entirely quench it, and the family party soon grew
more cheery.

Of course the publication of the list was a terrible facer for Kavanagh,
and when he saw the certainty of his failure his heart thumped hard and
his brain reeled for half a minute. But when the mist cleared from his
eyes he drew a long breath, shook himself, and lit a cigar. He did not
bother himself with "ifs." _If_ he had read this subject a little more,
and that a little less, he would have got so many more marks. _If_
those questions he had particularly crammed in such a subject had been
set. _If_ there had been three more vacancies, etcetera. Neither did
he regret his former want of application, which he had done his very
utmost to remedy the last year. Nor did he give way to a passion of
vexation about the missing will, or repine at Fate. "What's the use?"
he said to himself when these thoughts recurred to him; and he smothered
them as he walked towards his room--this was in the chambers of a
brother militia officer who played at being a barrister and lived in the
Temple. As he was a sportsman and an Alpine climber, he did not live
very much in London, and finding that his subaltern, Kavanagh, was going
to lodge in the capital for the sake of reading with a crammer, and
having a spare bedroom which he did not want, and was thinking of
letting off if he found a friend whose coming in and out would not bore
him, to take it, he proposed that the lad should do so. If he liked to
pay him 20 pounds a year he might; if not, it did not matter. For he
had taken a great fancy to Kavanagh, who, indeed, was a general
favourite. When Royce, the owner of the chambers, was away, Kavanagh
had the sole use of the sitting-room as well as of the bedroom; and when
he was in town it was much the same thing. They breakfasted together,
but Royce spent most of the day at his club.

He was in London now, and Kavanagh wished he was not, for he did not
want consolation, advice, or offer of help. He knew that he had to work
out this business for himself, and the less said the better. Royce was
not in now, that was one consolation. Kavanagh went up to his room, and
began overhauling his clothes. He selected an old pair of corduroy
trousers which he had used for shooting, with a coat and waistcoat which
had been worn with them, and a pair of boots bought in the country
ready-made, on an occasion when he had been obliged, by an accident to
his war