s and to the several members of the house party, by all
of whom he was voted a decided acquisition before he had been an
hour under the Priory's roof.

It is odd how one's fancies sometimes go. He found the Honourable
Mrs. Carruthers a sweet, gentle, dovelike little woman for whom he
did not care in the least degree, and he found Lady Essington's son
a rollicking, bubbling, overgrown boy of two-and-twenty, whom, in
spite of frivolous upbringing and a rather pronounced brusqueness
toward his mother, he fancied very much indeed. In fact, he "played
right up" to Mr. Claude Essington, as our American cousins say; and
Mr. Claude Essington, fancying him hugely, took him to his heart
forthwith and blurted out his sentiments with almost small-boy
candour.

"I say, Deland, you're a spiffing sort--I like you!" he said bluntly,
after they'd played one or two sets of tennis with the ladies and
done their "social duties" generally. "If things look up a bit and
I'm able to go back to Oxford for the next term (and the Lord
knows how I shall, if the mater doesn't succeed in 'touching'
Carruthers for some money for we're jolly near broke and up to our
eyes in debt), but if I do go back and you're in England still,
I'll have you up for the May week and give you the time of your
life. Oh, Lord! here's the mater coming now. Let's hook it. Come
round to the stables, will you, and have a look at my collection.
Pippin' lot--they'll interest you."

They did; for on investigation the "collection" proved to be made
up of pigeons, magpies, parrakeets, white mice, monkeys, and even
a tame squirrel, all of which came forth at their master's call and
swarmed or flocked all over him.

"Now then, Dolly Varden, you keep your thieving tongs away from
my scarfpin, old lady!" exclaimed this enthusiast to a magpie
which perched upon his shoulder and immediately made a peck at
the small pearl in his necktie. "Awfullest old thief and vagrant
that ever sprouted a feather, this beauty," he explained to Cleek as
he smoothed the magpie's head. "Steal your eye teeth if she could
get at them, and goes off on the loose like a blessed wandering
gypsy. Lost her for three days and nights a couple of weeks ago,
and the Lord knows where the old vagrant put in her time. What's
that? The white stuff on her beak? Blest if I know. Been pecking at
a wall or something, I reckon, and--hullo! There's Carruthers and
his little lordship strolling about hand in hand. Let's g