Time had remained very gentle in its dealings with Chillingly Mivers.
He scarcely looked a day older than when he was first presented to the
reader on the birth of his kinsman Kenelm. He was reaping the fruit
of his own sage maxims. Free from whiskers and safe in wig, there was
no sign of gray, no suspicion of dye. Superiority to passion,
abnegation of sorrow, indulgence of amusement, avoidance of excess,
had kept away the crow's-feet, preserved the elasticity of his frame
and the unflushed clearness of his gentlemanlike complexion. The door
opened, and a well-dressed valet, who had lived long enough with
Mivers to grow very much like him, announced Mr. Chillingly Gordon.

"Good morning," said Mivers; "I was much pleased to see you talking so
long and so familiarly with Danvers: others, of course, observed it,
and it added a step to your career. It does you great good to be seen
in a drawing-room talking apart with a Somebody. But may I ask if the
talk itself was satisfactory?"

"Not at all: Danvers throws cold water on the notion of Saxboro', and
does not even hint that his party will help me to any other opening.
Party has few openings at its disposal nowadays for any young man.
The schoolmaster being abroad has swept away the school for statesmen
as he has swept away the school for actors,--an evil, and an evil of a
far greater consequence to the destinies of the nation than any good
likely to be got from the system that succeeded it."

"But it is of no use railing against things that can't be helped. If
I were you, I would postpone all ambition of Parliament and read for
the bar."