e has not his father's good air. These young fellows have a tone, a
something,--a want of self-possession, eh?"

"Very true. The fact is, that Percival was meant for the navy, and even
served as a mid for a year or so. He was a younger son, then,--third,
I think. The two elder ones died, and Master Percival walked into the
inheritance. I don't think he is quite of age yet."

"Of age! he does not look seventeen."

"Oh, he is more than that; I remember him in his jacket at Laughton. A
fine property!"

"Ay, I don't wonder those fellows are so civil to him. This claret is
corked! Everything is so bad at this d----d club,--no wonder, when a
troop of boys are let in! Enough to spoil any club; don't know Larose
from Lafitte! Waiter!"

Meanwhile, the talk round the table at which sat Percival St. John was
animated, lively, and various,--the talk common with young idlers; of
horses, and steeplechases, and opera-dancers, and reigning beauties,
and good-humoured jests at each other. In all this babble there was a
freshness about Percival St. John's conversation which showed that, as
yet, for him life had the zest of novelty. He was more at home about
horses and steeplechases than about opera-dancers and beauties and the
small scandals of town. Talk on these latter topics did not seem to
interest him, on the contrary, almost to pain. Shy and modest as a girl,
he coloured or looked aside when his more hardened friends boasted of
assignations and love-affairs. Spirited, gay, and manly enough in all
really manly points, the virgin bloom of innocence was yet visible in
his frank, charming manner; and often, out of respect for his delicacy,
some hearty son of pleasure stopped short in his narrative, or lost
the point of his anecdote. And yet so lovable was Percival in his good
humour, his naivete, his joyous entrance into innocent joy, that his
companions were scarcely conscious of the gene and restraint he
imposed on them. Those merry, dark eyes and that flashing smile
were conviviality of themselves. They brought with them a contagious
cheerfulness which compensated for the want of corruption.

Night had set in. St. John's companions had departed to their several
haunts, and Percival himself stood on the steps of the club, resolving
that he would join the crowds that swept through the streets to gaze
on the illuminations, when he perceived Beck (still at the rein of his
dozing horse), whom he had quite forgotten till that moment