before he had learned to know what were the requisites for which he should look.  He had lived on terms of closest intimacy with this man for three years, and now his eyes were opening themselves to the nature of his friend’s character.  Cradell was in age three years his senior.  “I won’t drop him,” he said to himself; “but he is a poor creature.”  He thought, too, of the Lupexes, of Miss Spruce, and of Mrs Roper, and tried to imagine what Lily Dale would do if she found herself among such people.  It would be impossible that she should ever so find herself.  He might as well ask her to drink at the bar of a gin shop as to sit down in Mrs Roper’s drawing-room.  If destiny had in store for him such good fortune as that of calling Lily his own, it was necessary that he should altogether alter his mode of life.

In truth his hobbledehoyhood was dropping off from him, as its old skin drops from a snake.  Much of the feeling and something of the knowledge of manhood was coming on him, and he was beginning to recognise to himself that the future manner of his life must be to him a matter of very serious concern.  No such thought had come near him when he first established himself in London.  It seems to me that in this respect the fathers and mothers of the present generation understand but little of the inward nature of the young men for whom they are so anxious.  They give them credit for so much that it is impossible they should have, and then deny them credit for so much that they possess!  They expect from them when boys the discretion of men,—­that discretion which comes from thinking; but will not give them credit for any of that power of thought which alone can ultimately produce good conduct.  Young men are generally thoughtful,—­more thoughtful than their seniors; but the fruit of their thought is not as yet there.  And then so little is done for the amusement of lads who are turned loose into London at nineteen or twenty.  Can it be that any mother really expects her son to sit alone evening after evening in a dingy room drinking bad tea, and reading good books?  And yet it seems that mothers do so expect,—­the very mothers who talk about the thoughtlessness of youth!  O ye mothers who from year to year see your sons launched forth upon the perils of the world, and who are so careful with your good advice, with under flannel shirting, with books of devotion and tooth-powder, does it never occur to you that provision should be made for amusement, for dancing, for parties, for the excitement and comfort of women’s society?  That excitement your sons will have, and if it be not provided by you of one kind, will certainly be provided by themselves of another kind.  If I were a mother sending lads out into the world, the matter most in my mind would be this,—­to what houses full of nicest girls could I get them admission, so that they might do their flirting in good company.