He was not at all learned; he had reached the First Hundred at Eton, and had read Law at Cambridge--that convenient branch of study which for the most part fills the vacuum for intelligent persons who have no particular bent and are heartily sick of classics; and he had taken a Third Class and his degree a day or two before.

He was remarkably averaged, therefore; and yet, somehow or another, there was that in him which compelled Jack's admiration.

I suppose it was that which is conveniently labeled "character." Certainly, nearly everybody who came into contact with him felt the same in some degree.
His becoming a Catholic had been an amazing shock to Jack, who had always supposed that Frank, like himself, took the ordinary sensible English view of religion.

To be a professed unbeliever was bad form--it was like being a Little Englander or a Radical; to be pious was equally bad form--it resembled a violent devotion to the Union Jack.

No; religion to Jack (and he had always hitherto supposed, to Frank) was a department of life in which one did not express any particular views: one did not say one's prayers; one attended chapel at the proper times; if one was musical, one occasionally went to King's on Sunday afternoon; in the country one went to church on Sunday morning as one went to the stables in the afternoon, and that was about all.
Frank had been, too, so extremely secretive about the whole thing.