“Not at all?”
“No.”
“Now, Herbert, don’t bother him. Have another meringue.”
“But, Rickie, my dear boy, you’re twenty. It’s time you thought. The Tripos is the beginning of life, not the end. In less than two years you will have got your B.A. What are you going to do with it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re M.A., aren’t you?” asked Agnes; but her brother proceeded—
“I have seen so many promising, brilliant lives wrecked simply on account of this—not settling soon enough. My dear boy, you must think. Consult your tastes if possible—but think. You have not a moment to lose. The Bar, like your father?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t like that at all.”
“I don’t mention the Church.”
“Oh, Rickie, do be a clergyman!” said Miss Pembroke. “You’d be simply killing in a wide-awake.”