It was a long way from Marylebone to Rome; greater still the distance between the boy's mind and that of his uncle.
Sarah took Harriet to bed early.

Julian had got hold of his Plutarch again, and read snatches of it aloud every now and then.

His uncle paid no heed, was sunk in dull reverie.

When they had sat thus for more than an hour, Mr.Smales began to exhibit a wish to talk.
"Put the book away, and draw up to the fire, my boy," he said, with as near an approach to heartiness as he was capable of.

"It's Christmas time, and Christmas only comes once a year." He rubbed his palms together, then began to twist the corners of his handkerchief.
"Well, Julian," he went on, leaning feebly forward to the fire, "a year more school, I suppose, and then--business; what ?" "Yes, uncle." The boy spoke cheerfully, but yet not in the same natural way as before.
"I wish I could afford to make you something better, my lad; you ought to be something better by rights.