"Rugby football, yes," said Harry, smiling.
"And you liked it, didn't you?"
"Oh, rather! Only—"
"Only what?"
"Oh, nothing. I did like it. It's a wonderful place."
"Only it's different from what you're doing now?" said Trotwood, with a burst of insight. "Is that what you mean?"
"Yes."
"I see; I see," said Trotwood, and then he kept still. There was something so comforting, so sympathetic and understanding about his silence that Harry was inspired to confide in him.
"The truth is, I'm beginning to doubt whether I ought to have gone to an English school. I'm not sure but what it would have been better for me to go to school and college in the same country, whatever it was. You see, after spending five or six years in learning to value certain things, it's rather a wrench to come here and find the values all distorted."
"I see," said Trotwood again. He wasn't sure that he did see at all, but he felt that unquestioning sympathy was his cue.