from being sure; but, at all events, it was the practice most congenial
to my own mind.

And then I was for a long time absent, making my own way in the world. I
did not make it very successfully. I accomplished the natural fate of an
Englishman, and went out to the Colonies; then to India in a
semi-diplomatic position; but returned home after seven or eight years,
invalided, in bad health and not much better spirits, tired and
disappointed with my first trial of life. I had, as people say, "no
occasion" to insist on making my way. My father was rich, and had never
given me the slightest reason to believe that he did not intend me to be
his heir. His allowance to me was not illiberal, and though he did not
oppose the carrying out of my own plans, he by no means urged me to
exertion. When I came home he received me very affectionately, and
expressed his satisfaction in my return. "Of course," he said, "I am not
glad that you are disappointed, Philip, or that your health is broken;
but otherwise it is an ill wind, you know, that blows nobody good; and I
am very glad to have you at home. I am growing an old man--"

"I don't see any difference, sir," said I; "everything here seems exactly
the same as when I went away--"

He smiled, and shook his head. "It is true enough," he said; "after we
have reached a certain age we seem to go on for a long time on a
plane, and feel no great difference from year to year; but it is an
inclined plane, and the longer we go on the more sudden will be the
fall at the end. But at all events it will be a great comfort to me to
have you here."

"If I had known that," I said, "and that you wanted me, I should have