Reuben took the chair opposite his cousin, then said shortly:
“You have come to tell me something.”
“Yes. I have been having it out with my governor.”
“Ah?” interrogatively.
“I told him,” went on Leo, leaning forward and speaking with some excitement, “that I hadn’t the faintest idea of going on the Stock Exchange, or even of reading for the bar; that my plan was this: to work hard for my degree, and then stay on, on chance of a fellowship. Every one up there seems to think the matter lies virtually in my own hands.”
“What did my uncle say to that?”
“Oh, he was furious; wouldn’t listen to reason for a moment. I think”—with a boyish, bitter laugh—“that he rather confounds a fellow of Trinity with the assistant-master at a Jewish boarding-school. The word ‘usher’ figured very largely in his arguments.”
“I think,” said Reuben slowly, “that you are making a mistake.”
“Ah,” cried Leo, flinging out his hand, “you don’t understand. I can’t live—I can’t breathe in this atmosphere; I should choke. Up there, somehow, it is freer, purer; life is simpler, nobler.”
Reuben looked down: “I quite agree with you on that point. All the same, you were never cut out for a University don. Do you want me to tell you that you are a musician?”