would have no
crime, or at least so little that you would not consider it worth
mentioning.

However, to return to Sam. He, Halbert, Charles Hawker, and Jim had
been away riding down an emu, and had stayed out all day. But Cecil
Mayford, having made excuse to stay at home, had been making himself in
many ways agreeable to Alice, and at last had attended her on a ride,
and on his return had been rewarded with a rose, as we saw. The first
thing Sam caught sight of when he came home was Alice and Cecil walking
up and down the garden very comfortably together, talking and laughing.
He did not like to see this. He dreaded Cecil's powers of entertainment
too much, and it made him angry to hear how he was making Alice laugh.
Then, when the four came into the house, this offending couple took no
notice of them at all, but continued walking up and down in the garden,
till Jim, who, not being in love, did'nt care twopence whether his
sister came in or not, went out to the verandah, and called out "Hi!"

"What now?" said Alice, turning round.

"Why, we're come home," said Jim, "and I want you."

"Then you won't get me, impudence," said Alice, and began walking up
and down again. But not long after, having to come in, she just said,
"How do, Mr. Halbert?" and passed on, never speaking to Sam. Now there
was no reason why she should have spoken to him, but "Good evening, Mr.
Buckley," would not have hurt anybody. And now in came Cecil, with that
unlucky rose, and Jim immediately began,--

"Hallo, Cis, where did you get your flower?"

"Ah, that's a secret," said Cecil, with an affected look.

"No secret at all," said Alice, coming back. "I gave it to him. He had
the civility to stay and take me out for a ride, instead of going to
run down those poor pretty emus. And that is his reward. I pinned it
into his coat for him." And out she went again.

Sam was very sulky, but he couldn't exactly say with whom. With himself
more than anybody, I believe.

"Like Cecil's consummate impudence!" was his first thought; but after
he had gone to his room to dress, his better nature came to him, and
before dinner came on he was his old self again, unhappy still, but not
sulky, and determined to be just.

"What right have I to be angry, even suppose she does come to care more
for him than for me? What can be more likely? He is more courtly,
amusing, better-looking, they say, and certainly cleverer; oh,
decidedly cleverer. He might as well m