coolly on the broad balustrade of the terrace with his hands
on his hips, and his heels resting on the marble tiling, and
clicked the soles of his boots together.

"Oh, I have had my bad days, too, Father," he said. He turned
his head on one side, and pressed his lips together, looking
down.

"Unstable as water--that is quite possible," he said, with an
air of consideration; "but spoiled by good fortune--oh, no,
that is not fair. Do you call it good fortune, sir," he
laughed, "to be an exile at twenty-eight? Is it good fortune
to be too poor to pay your debts, and too lazy to work; to be
the last of a great name, and to have no chance to add to the
glory of it, and no means to keep its dignity fresh and
secure? Do you fancy I like to see myself drifting farther
and farther away from the old standards and the old
traditions; to have English brewers and German Jew bankers
taking the place I should have, buying titles with their
earnings and snubbing me because I can only hunt when someone
gives me a mount, and because I choose to take a purse instead
of a cup when we shoot at Monte Carlo?"

"What child's talk is this?" interrupted the priest, angrily.
"A thousand horses cannot make a man noble, nor was poverty
ever ignoble. You talk like a weak boy. Every word you say
is your own condemnation. Why should you complain? Your bed
is of your own making. The other prodigal was forced to herd
with the swine--you have chosen to herd with them."