He spoke with a degree of frankness that Charles Tyrrell had seldom heard him use, and he replied, "I am really very much obliged to you, Mr. Driesen, and will, of course, hear with respect and attention whatever advice you think fit to give me; but you must take the trouble of telling me upon which subject it is to be, for I confess myself ignorant."
"Of course I will, of course I will," replied Mr. Driesen; "for I intend it to be what the ancients used to call a free gift: now, if I were to expect you to give me your confidence in return, it would be a matter of trade, traffic, barter, commerce. You would value it more, doubtless, but I care nothing about that. I will, in the first place, set out then by telling you the points of your situation on which you require advice and assistance, some of which you know, and some of which you don't. But let us go up and down the walk, for my old blood does not run so quickly as once it did, and I am rather chilly."
Charles Tyrrell followed his suggestion; and having made his pause just sufficiently long to be impressive, Mr. Driesen went on.
"In the first place, Charles, you are in love." Charles Tyrrell coloured a little, more from surprise than any other feeling; but the other proceeded: "In the next place, you know your father, and are puzzled how to act in the business. I saw it all in your face last night when you came in from handing Miss Effingham into the carriage; so do not say a word, but let me go on. In the next place," continued Mr. Driesen, "you are not going to Oxford to-day--"
"Indeed," replied Charles Tyrrell, "you are quite mistaken. Everything is packed up and ready, and, whenever the coach passes, I intend to get up and go to Oxford."
"You intend," said Mr. Driesen, with a grim smile; "I never said you did not intend, I only said you are not going; and the very fact of your fully intending it is one of the reasons why you won't go. Your father thinks that you are getting too fond of Oxford; that you like being away from home. Here you are going two days before it is necessary; I am quite sure you would like to remain those two days here now, only you are ashamed of saying so, because you fixed the day for going back on the very day you came. However, your father won't let you go. He thinks you wish it, and the consequence, you know, is certain. He will take hold of the very first excuse for making you stay. See if he does not. I am not very sure that he will let you go at all; but that is doubtful. However, you can prevent it at once, if you like, by strongly pressing to go."