father of the child; and the
boy will grow up exactly like him. Young Welbore does his work
punctually and without interest; he plays games respectably; he likes
to know the right boys; he is not exactly disagreeable, but he derides
all boys who are in the least degree shy, stupid, or unconventional. He
is quite a little man of the world, in fact. Well, I don't like that
type of creature, and I tried to indicate to the father that I thought
the boy was rather on the wrong lines. He heard me with impatience, as
though I was bothering him about matters which belonged to my province;
and he ended by laughing, not very agreeably, and saying: "Well, you
don't seem to have much of a case against Charlie; he appears to be
fairly popular. I confess that I don't much go in for sentiment in
education; if a boy does his work, and plays his games, and doesn't get
into trouble, I think he is on the right lines." And then he paid me an
offensive compliment: "I hear you make the boys very comfortable, and I
am sure I am obliged to you for taking so much interest in him." He
then went off for a little to see the boy. He appeared at dinner, and I
had invited two or three of the most intelligent of my colleagues. Mr.
Welbore simply showed off. He told stories; he made mirthless legal
jokes. One of my colleagues, Patrick, a man of some originality,
ventured to dispute an opinion of Mr. Welbore's, and Mr. Welbore turned
him inside out, by a series of questions, as if he was examining a
witness, in a good-natured, insolent way, and ended by saying: "Well,
Mr. Patrick, that sort of thing wouldn't do in a law-court, you know;
you would have to know your subject better than that." I was not
surprised, after dinner, at the alacrity with which my colleagues
quitted the scene, on all sorts of professional excuses. Then Mr.
Welbore sate up till midnight, smoking strong cigars, and giving me his
ideas on the subject of education. That was a bitter pill, for he
worsted me in every argument I undertook.

Sunday was a nightmare day; every spare moment was given up to Mr.
Welbore. I breakfasted with him, took him to chapel, took him to the
boys' luncheon, walked with him, sate with him, talked with him. The
strain was awful. The man sees everything from a different point of
view to my own. One ought to be able to put up with that, of course,
and I don't at all pretend that I consider my point of view better than
his; but I had to endure the consciousne