"He's a radiant boy," thought Thornton Hancock, who had seen the splendor
of two continents and talked with Parnell and Gladstone and Bismarck--
and afterward he added to Monsignor: "But his education ought not to be
intrusted to a school or college."

But for the next four years the best of Amory's intellect was
concentrated on matters of popularity, the intricacies of a university
social system and American Society as represented by Biltmore Teas and
Hot Springs golf-links.

. . . In all, a wonderful week, that saw Amory's mind turned inside out,
a hundred of his theories confirmed, and his joy of life crystallized to
a thousand ambitions. Not that the conversation was scholastic--heaven
forbid! Amory had only the vaguest idea as to what Bernard Shaw was--
but Monsignor made quite as much out of "The Beloved Vagabond" and "Sir
Nigel," taking good care that Amory never once felt out of his depth.

But the trumpets were sounding for Amory's preliminary skirmish with his
own generation.

"You're not sorry to go, of course. With people like us our home is
where we are not," said Monsignor.

"I _am_ sorry--"

"No, you're not. No one person in the world is necessary to you or to
me."

"Well--"