of his face showed how he felt its power and reverence. Philip asked if they would like to hear more, and Charles assented: Amy worked, Laura went on with her perspective, and Guy sat by her side, making concentric circles with her compasses, or when she wanted them he tormented her parallel ruler, or cut the pencils, never letting his fingers rest except at some high or deep passage, or when some interesting discussion arose. All were surprised when luncheon time arrived; Charles held out his hand for the book; it was given with a slight smile, and he exclaimed’ Latin! I thought you were translating. Is it your own property?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it very tough? I would read it, if any one would read it with me.’
‘Do you mean me?’ said Guy; ‘I should like it very much, but you have seen how little Latin I know.’
‘That is the very thing,’ said Charles; ‘that Ovis of yours was music; I would have made you a Knight of the Golden Fleece on the spot. Tutors I could get by shoals, but a fellow-dunce is inestimable.’
‘It is a bargain, then,’ said Guy; ‘if Philip has done with the book and will lend it to us.’
The luncheon bell rang, and they all adjourned to the dining-room. Mr. Edmonstone came in when luncheon was nearly over, rejoicing that his letters were done, but then he looked disconsolately from the window, and pitied the weather. ‘Nothing for it but billiards. People might say it was nonsense to have a billiard-table in such a house, but for his part he found there was no getting through a wet day without them. Philip must beat him as usual, and Guy might have one of the young ladies to make a fourth.’
‘Thank you,’ said Guy, ‘but I don’t play.’
‘Not play—eh?’ Well, we will teach you in the spinning of a ball, and I’ll have my little Amy to help me against you and Philip.’
‘No, thank you,’ repeated Guy, colouring, ‘I am under a promise.’
‘Ha! Eh? What? Your grandfather? He could see no harm in such play as this. For nothing, you understand. You did not suppose I meant anything else?’
‘O no, of course not,’ eagerly replied Guy; ‘but it is impossible for me to play, thank you. I have promised never even to look on at a game at billiards.’
‘Ah, poor man, he had too much reason.’ uttered Mr. Edmonstone to himself, but catching a warning look from his wife, he became suddenly silent. Guy, meanwhile, sat looking lost in sad thoughts, till, rousing himself, he exclaimed, ‘Don’t let me prevent you.’
Mr. Edmonstone needed but little persuasion, and carried Philip off to the billiard-table in the front hall.
‘O, I am so glad!’ cried Charlotte, who had, within the last week, learnt Guy’s value as a playfellow. ‘Now you will never go to those stupid billiards, but I shall have you always, every rainy day. Come and have a real good game at ball on the stairs.’
She already had hold of his hand, and would have dragged him off at once, had he not waited to help Charles back to his sofa; and in the mean time she tried in vain to persuade her more constant playmate, Amabel, to join the game. Poor little Amy regretted the being obliged to refuse, as she listened to the merry sounds and bouncing balls, sighing more than once at having turned into a grown-up young lady; while Philip observed to Laura, who was officiating as billiard-marker, that Guy was still a mere boy.
The fates favoured Amy at last for about half after three, the billiards were interrupted, and Philip, pronouncing the rain to be almost over, invited Guy to take a walk, and they set out in a very gray wet mist, while Charlotte and Amy commenced a vigorous game at battledore and shuttle-cock.
The gray mist had faded into twilight, and twilight into something like night, when Charles was crossing the hall, with the aid of Amy’s arm, Charlotte carrying the crutch behind him, and Mrs. Edmonstone helping Laura with her perspective apparatus, all on their way to dress for dinner; the door opened and in came the two Morvilles. Guy, without, even stopping to take off his great coat, ran at once up-stairs, and the next moment the door of his room was shut with a bang that shook the house, and made them all start and look at Philip for explanation.
‘Redclyffe temper,’ said he, coolly, with a half-smile curling his short upper lip.
‘What have you been doing to him?’ said Charles.’
‘Nothing. At least nothing worthy of such ire. I only entered on the subject of his Oxford life, and advised him to prepare for it, for his education has as yet been a mere farce. He used to go two or three days in the week to one Potts, a self-educated genius—a sort of superior writing-master at the Moorworth commercial school. Of course, though it is no fault of his, poor fellow, he is hardly up to the fifth form, and he must make the most of his time, if he is not to be plucked. I set all this before him as gently as I could, for I knew with whom I had to deal, yet you see how it is.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Charles.
‘He said nothing; so far I give him credit; but he strode on furiously for the last half mile, and this explosion is the finale. I am very sorry for him, poor boy; I beg no further notice may be taken of it. Don’t you want an arm, Charlie?’
‘No thank you,’ answered Charles, with a little surliness.
‘You had better. It really is too much for Amy,’ said Philip, making a move as if to take possession of him, as he arrived at the foot of the stairs.
‘Like the camellia, I suppose,’ he replied; and taking his other crutch from Charlotte, he began determinedly to ascend without assistance, resolved to keep Philip a prisoner below him as long as he could, and enjoying the notion of chafing him by the delay. Certainly teasing Philip was a dear delight to Charles, though it was all on trust, as, if he succeeded, his cousin never betrayed his annoyance by look or sign.
About a quarter of an hour after, there was a knock at the dressing-room door. ‘Come in,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, looking up from her letter-writing, and Guy made his appearance, looking very downcast.
‘I am come,’ he said, ‘to ask pardon for the disturbance I made just now. I was so foolish as to be irritated at Philip’s manner, when he was giving me some good advice, and I am very sorry.’
‘What has happened to your lip?’ she exclaimed.
He put his handkerchief to it. ‘Is it bleeding still? It is a trick of mine to bite my lip when I am vexed. It seems to help to keep down words. There! I have given myself a mark of this hateful outbreak.’
He looked very unhappy, more so, Mrs. Edmonstone thought, than the actual offence required. ‘You have only failed in part,’ she said. ‘It was a victory to keep down words.’
‘The feeling is the thing,’ said Guy; ‘besides, I showed it plainly enough, without speaking.’
‘It is not easy to take advice from one so little your elder,’ began Mrs. Edmonstone, but he interrupted her. ‘It was not the advice. That was very good; I—’ but he spoke with an effort—‘I am obliged to him. It was—no, I won’t say what,’ he added, his eyes kindling, then changing in a moment to a sorrowful, resolute tone, ‘Yes, but I will, and then I shall make myself thoroughly ashamed. It was his veiled assumption of superiority, his contempt for all I have been taught. Just as if he had not every right to despise me, with his talent
