Mowbray would often remonstrate with him on this neglect of his studies; but Hoffland always turned aside his advice with some amusing speech, or humorous banter. When the elder student said, "Now, Charles, as your friend I counsel you not to throw away your time and dissipate your mind;" to this Hoffland would reply, "Yes, you are right, Ernest; the morning, as you say, is lovely." Or when Mowbray would say, "Charles, you are incorrigible;" "Yes," Hoffland would reply, with his winning smile, "I knew how much you liked me."
On the fine morning to which we have now arrived, the conversation of the friends took exactly this direction. Hoffland for two or three days had obstinately kept away from the college, and "non est inventus" was the substance of the proctor's return when he was sent to drum up the absent student.
"Indeed, Charles," said Mowbray, with his calm sadness, "you should not thus allow your time to be absorbed in indolent lounging. A man has his career in the world to run, and college is the threshold. If you enter the world ignorant and awkward—and the greatest genius is awkward if ignorant—you will find the mere fops of the day pass you in the course. They may be superficial, shallow, but they have cultivated their natural gifts, while you have not done so. They enter gracefully, and succeed; you will enter awkwardly, and fail."
"A fine Mentor you are!" replied Hoffland; "and I ought to be duly grateful for your excellent advice."
"It is that of a friend."
"I know it."
"Yes," Hoffland said, "I am convinced that your friendship for me is very true. Strange you should like me so!"
"I think not: you are by yourself here, and I am naturally attracted always by inexperience. I find great freshness of thought and feeling in you, Charles——"
"Do you?"