ut Eddie is very clever, Aunt Amy: he can do anything if he likes,"
Bertie cried loyally. "And I do not think he would get on with Uncle
Gregory: he would never like the City; besides, Eddie never cared to be
told to do anything. Even poor papa used to say, 'Please, Eddie,' or
'Perhaps you will do so, Eddie.' Now, Uncle Gregory orders me to do
forty different things in different ways every day, and I don't mind a
bit; but Eddie would stand and look at him, and frown so, and just walk
away. My brother would never get on with Uncle Gregory, Aunt Amy,"
Bertie repeated gravely. "Eddie would never make a merchant."

"And your uncle Clair says he will never make an artist, unless he
changes greatly," said Aunt Amy, rather sadly. "Poor Eddie! I am really
very anxious about his future: he is so like his father: his ideas are
quite magnificent, but he has no energy."

"He's clever, though, auntie; papa often said Eddie was a genius,"
Bertie whispered, "and I can work enough for us both. When I am rich,
and can buy back Riversdale, Eddie will be quite happy. You don't know
how different he will be when he gets back to our beautiful home," and
Bertie's eyes sparkled, and his cheeks flushed at the thought, for the
dream of Bertie's life was to get back Riversdale. The anxieties of the
great establishment in Mincing Lane never touched him; he knew nothing
of risks, disappointments, or failures; in fact, Bertie never even
thought of such things, for he was but a child at heart, and had perfect
faith in his uncle's assurance that if he were only a good, obedient,
industrious boy he would be very rich some day, and get back his home.
But no thought of the busy City, the close, dusty office, or the hot
library at Kensington troubled him as he took his seat in the train, and
was whirled at the rate of fifty miles an hour southward. Eddie sat
silently looking out of the window, envying his brother's high spirits;
he could not think what made Bertie so happy when he felt discontented
and miserable, and thoroughly dissatisfied with everything in the world.
Agnes, too, seemed infected with some of Bertie's good humour; her eyes
sparkled, her cheeks flushed, and she laughed merrily at the utter
nonsense her cousin chattered incessantly, while poor Eddie hugged his
discontent, and made the most of his misery. And yet he had no real
cause to be unhappy: every one was kind, gentle, patient with him; he
had not a reasonable wish in the world ungr