He was happiest when, throwing himself into bed after some fourteen hours of hard reading, he felt the stupor of utter weariness creep upon him, with certainty of oblivion until the next sunrise.
He did not much reflect upon the course of his life hitherto, with its false starts, its wavering; he had not experience enough to understand their significance.

Of course his father was mainly responsible for what had so far happened.

Jerome Otway, whilst deciding that this youngest son of his should be set in the sober way of commerce, to advance himself, if fate pleased, through recognised grades of social respectability, was by no means careful to hide from the lad his own rooted contempt of such ideals.

Nothing could have been more inconsistent than the old agitator's behaviour in attempting to discharge this practical duty.

That he meant well was all one could say of him; for it was not permissible to suppose Jerome Otway defective in intelligence.