lowly, "that you did not smoke. There
is an impropriety about it, which surely you must appreciate."

Dick looked at him, with the lighted match flaring bluely between his
fingers. "Lord!" he said, "how many things are improper in Ashurst! But
just as you say, of course." He put his cigar back in an elaborate case,
and blew out the match, throwing it into the fireplace, among the
flowers. "The old gentleman smoked himself, though."

Gifford's face flushed slowly, and he spoke with even more deliberation
than usual. "Since you have decided not to smoke, you must not let me
detain you. I am very much obliged for the package."

"You're welcome, I'm sure," Dick said. "Yes, I suppose I'd better be
getting along. Well, I'll say good-by, Mr. Woodhouse. I suppose I sha'n't
see you before I go? And Heaven knows when I'll be in Ashurst again!"

Gifford started. "Sit down a moment," he said, waving aside Dick's hand.
"Surely you are not leaving Ashurst for any length of time?"

"Length of time?" answered the other, laughing. "Well, I rather think so.
I expect to go abroad next month."

A curious desire came into Gifford Woodhouse's strong hands to take this
boy by the throat, and shake him until his ceaseless smile was torn to
pieces. Instead of that, however, he folded his arms, and stood looking
down at his companion in silence.

Dick had seated himself again, and was twirling his wet umbrella round
and round by the shiny end of one of the ribs. "Yes," he said, "this is a
long good-by to Ashurst."

"Mr. Forsythe," said Gifford, with an edge of anger in his voice which
could not have escaped even a more indifferent ear than Dick's, "may I
ask if Dr. Howe knows of your plans?"

Dick looked up, with a sudden ugly shadow coming across the sunny
brightness of his face. "I don't know what I've done to deserve this
concern on your part, Mr. Woodhouse; but, since you ask, I have no
objection to saying that Dr. Howe does not particularly interest himself
in my affairs. I don't know whether he's aware of my plans, and I care
less."

He rose, and stood grasping his wet umbrella mid-ways, looking defiantly
into Gifford's face. It was singular how instantly, in some wordless way,
he appreciated that he had been blamed.

Gifford began to speak in the slow, measured tone which showed how he was
guarding his words. "You may not care for his interest," he said, "but
you can scarcely expect that he would not notice your absence."

"