But he had to allow some adroitness in his father. Not only Lady
Waverton, but Geoffrey too, succumbed to the paternal charms. That was
the more surprising. Geoffrey, behind his vanity and his affectation, was
no fool. He had also a temper apt to dislike any man who made a show of
position or achievement beyond his own. Yet he hung upon the lips of
Colonel Boyce. What they gave him was indeed a pleasing mixture--secrets
about great affairs flavoured with deference to his ingenious criticisms.
There was something solid about it, too. The Colonel, displaying himself
as a man of much importance, perpetually hinted that only the occasion
was needed for Mr. Waverton to surpass him by far, and to that occasion
he could point the way. It appeared to Harry that his father had in mind
to enlist Geoffrey for the proposed mission to France, or some other
scheme unrevealed. And being unable to see any reason for wanting
Geoffrey as a man, he suspected that his father wanted money.

He saw clearly that nobody wanted him, and was therewith very well
content. At this time in his life he asked nothing better than to be left
alone with his whims and the open air. He covered many a mile of sticky
clay in these autumn days, placidly vacant of mind, and afterwards
accounted them the most comfortable of his life.

Mr. Waverton's house was set upon a hill, at one end of a line of hills
which now look over the wilderness of London, falling steeply thereto,
and upon the other side, to northward and the open country, more gently.
In the epoch of Harry Boyce those hills were all woodland--pleasant
patches still remain,--and if the need of great walking was not upon him
he was often pleased to loiter through their thickets. It was on a wild
south-westerly day when the naked trees were at a loud chorus that Alison
came to him.