'I know you thought so. They all think so.'
'Well, I suppose they do,' says Edwin, meditating aloud. 'Pussy
thinks so.'
'When did she tell you that?'
'The last time I was here. You remember when. Three months ago.'
'How did she phrase it?'
'O, she only said that she had become your pupil, and that you were
made for your vocation.'
The younger man glances at the portrait. The elder sees it in him.
'Anyhow, my dear Ned,' Jasper resumes, as he shakes his head with a
grave cheerfulness, 'I must subdue myself to my vocation: which is
much the same thing outwardly. It's too late to find another now.
This is a confidence between us.'
'It shall be sacredly preserved, Jack.'
'I have reposed it in you, because - '
'I feel it, I assure you. Because we are fast friends, and because
you love and trust me, as I love and trust you. Both hands, Jack.'
As each stands looking into the other's eyes, and as the uncle
holds the nephew's hands, the uncle thus proceeds:
'You know now, don't you, that even a poor monotonous chorister and
grinder of music - in his niche - may be troubled with some stray
sort of ambition, aspiration, restlessness, dissatisfaction, what
shall we call it?'
'Yes, dear Jack.'
'And you will remember?'
'My dear Jack, I only ask you, am I likely to forget what you have
said with so much feeling?'
'Take it as a warning, then.'
In the act of having his hands released, and of moving a step back,
Edwin pauses for an instant to consider the application of these
last words.
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