as straight as any man. All the polite accomplishments in their
season seemed to come to him without effort; but there was in all
the same lack of heart--that utter want of enthusiasm which imparted
to his presence a subtle suggestion of boredom. The truth was that
he was over-educated. Sir John had taught him how to live and move
and have his being with so minute a care, so keen an insight, that
existence seemed to be nothing but an habitual observance of set
rules.

Sir John called him sarcastically his "bright boy," his "hopeful
offspring," the "pride of his old age"; but somewhere in his
shrivelled old heart there nestled an unbounded love and admiration
for his son. Jack had assimilated his teaching with a wonderful
aptitude. He had as nearly as possible realised Sir John Meredith's
idea of what an English gentleman should be, and the old
aristocrat's standard was uncompromisingly high. Public school,
University, and two years on the Continent had produced a finished
man, educated to the finger-tips, deeply read, clever, bright, and
occasionally witty; but Jack Meredith was at this time nothing more
than a brilliant conglomerate of possibilities. He had obeyed his
father to the letter with a conscientiousness bred of admiration.
He had always felt that his father knew best. And now he seemed to
be waiting--possibly for further orders. He was suggestive of a
perfect piece of mechanism standing idle for want of work delicate
enough to be manipulated by its delicate craft. Sir John had
impressed upon him the desirability of being independent, and he had
promptly cultivated that excellent quality, taking kindly enough to
rooms of his own in a fashionable quarter. But upon the principle
of taking a horse to the water and being unable to make him drink,
Sir John had not hitherto succeeded in making Jack take the