when his son would have ended his talking and go into the drawing-room;
and at length found himself writing the desired letter to Mr. Ness,
consenting to everything, terms and all. Mr. Ness never had a more
satisfactory pupil; one whom he could treat more as an intellectual
equal.

Mr. Corbet, as Ralph was always called in Hamley, was resolute in his
cultivation of himself, even exceeding what his tutor demanded of him. He
was greedy of information in the hours not devoted to absolute study. Mr.
Ness enjoyed giving information, but most of all he liked the hard tough
arguments on all metaphysical and ethical questions in which Mr. Corbet
delighted to engage him. They lived together on terms of happy equality,
having thus much in common. They were essentially different, however,
although there were so many points of resemblance. Mr. Ness was
unworldly as far as the idea of real unworldliness is compatible with a
turn for self-indulgence and indolence; while Mr. Corbet was deeply,
radically worldly, yet for the accomplishment of his object could deny
himself all the careless pleasures natural to his age. The tutor and
pupil allowed themselves one frequent relaxation, that of Mr. Wilkins's
company. Mr. Ness would stroll to the office after the six hours' hard
reading were over--leaving Mr. Corbet still bent over the table, book
bestrewn--and see what Mr. Wilkins's engagements were. If he had nothing
better to do that evening, he was either asked to dine at the parsonage,
or he, in his careless hospitable way, invited the other two to dine with
him, Ellinor forming the fourth at table, as far as seats went, although
her dinner had been eaten early with Miss Monro. She was little and
slight of her age, and her father never seemed to understand how she was
passing out of childhood. Yet while in stature she was like a child; in
intellect, in force of character, in strength of clinging affection, she
was a woman. There might be much of the simplicity of a child about her,