bent down upon him. "My arm is all right; it only
gave me a few twinges when I first started. My oar fouled, and I could
not get right again; so, finding I had lost too much ground, I gave up
the contest. Anne, had I known I should disgrace my colours, I would not
have given them to _you_."

"Miss Ashton loses, and Maude wins!" cried the countess-dowager,
executing a little dance of triumph. "Maude is the only one who wears
the Oxford blue."

It was true. The young Oxonian was a retiring and timid man, and none had
voluntarily assumed his colours. But no one heeded the countess-dowager.

"You are like a child, Hartledon, denying that your arm's damaged!"
exclaimed Captain Dawkes. "I know it is: I could see it by the way you
struck your oar all along."

What feeling is it in man that prompts him to disclaim physical
pain?--make light of personal injury? Lord Hartledon's ankle was
swelling, at the bottom of the boat; and without the slightest doubt
his arm _was_ paining him, although perhaps at the moment not very
considerably. But he maintained his own assertions, and protested his
arm was as sound as the best arm present. "I could go over the work again
with pleasure," cried he.

"Nonsense, Hart! You could not."

"And I _will_ go over it," he added, warming with the opposition. "Who'll
try his strength with me? There's plenty of time before dinner."

"I will," eagerly spoke young Carteret, who had been, as was remarked,
one of those on land, and was wild to be handling the oars. "If Dawkes
will let me have his skiff, I'll bet you ten to five you are distanced
again, Hartledon."

Perhaps Lord Hartledon had not thought his challenge would be taken
seriously. But when he saw the eager, joyous look of the boy Carteret--he
was not yet nineteen--the flushed pleasure of the beardless face, he
would not have retracted it for the world. He was just as good-natured
as Percival Elster.

"Dawkes will let you have his skiff, Carteret."

Captain Dawkes was exceedingly glad to be rid of it. Good boatman though
he was, he rarely cared to spend his strength superfluously, when nothing
was to be gained by it, and had no fancy to row his skiff back to its
moorings, as most of the others were already doing with theirs. He leaped
out.

"Any one but you, Hartledon, would be glad to come out of that
tilting thing, and enjoy a rest, and get your face cool," cried the
countess-dowager.

"I dare say they might, ma'am. I'm afraid