made his way along the road. "I daresay dear old auntie was a bit put
out," he thought, "but she brought it all upon herself. She doesn't
see that everybody must live his own life, that it's a duty one owes
to oneself to realise one's own individuality. Now it's _bad_ for me
to associate with people I detest--bad for my soul's development; just
as bad as it is for anyone's body to eat food that doesn't agree with
him. Those MacTavishes poison my soul just as arsenic poisons the
body, and I won't have my soul poisoned if I can help it. It's very
sad to see how blind she is to the art and philosophy of life. But
she'll have to learn it, and the sooner she begins the better."

Here he left the high road, and turned into a long, narrow lane
enclosed between high banks, which led into a pleasant meadow by the
river side. This shortened the way considerably, and when he reached
the stile at the further end of the meadow he found himself only some
ten minutes' walk from the park gates. Then a subdued excitement fell
upon him. He was going to see the beautiful picture-gallery and the
great collection of engravings, and the gardens with conservatories
full of lovely orchids. He was going to hold delightful converse with
the cultured and agreeable man to whom all these things belonged.
And--well, he might possibly even see a ghost! But now, in the genial
daylight, with the prospect of luncheon immediately before him, the
idea of ghosts seemed rather to retire into the background. Ghosts did
not appear so attractive as they had done yesterday afternoon, when he
had talked about them with Lubin. However--here he was.

Mr St Aubyn, tall and middle-aged, with a refined face set in a short,
pointed beard, received him with exquisite cordiality. How seldom does
a man realise the positive idolatry he can inspire by treating a
well-bred youth on equal terms, instead of assuming airs of patronage