" said Valentine; "I never wish to see him again."

Raymond did come, however, and instead of being at all abashed at the
recollection of the termination of his tea-party, he was, if anything,
more uppish than ever. It was only natural that he should make some
reference to their adventure at the fair, and this he did by blaming
Jack for not having made good his escape.

"Why didn't you run for it sooner, you duffer? You stood still there
like a stuffed monkey, and wouldn't move till the man collared you."

"And you ran so far and so fast," retorted Jack, "that you couldn't get
back to own up it was your doing, and save me from being expelled."

"Oh, go on! it isn't so bad as that," answered Raymond airily. "You
ought to be jolly glad you're going to get out of that place. It's no
good quarrelling over spilt milk.--Look here, will either of you do a
chap a friendly turn? Can you lend me some money? I want a pound or
two rather badly. Of course, I'd have got it from home, only the
guv'nor's away."

Jack and Valentine shook their heads.

"Well, I wish you could," continued the other. "I'd give you a
shilling in the pound interest, and pay you back for certain at the end
of next month."

"I wonder how it is," said Jack to Valentine that evening as they were
undressing, "that Raymond's always wanting money, and never seems to
have any. His people are rich enough, and I should think they make him
a good allowance."

"Of course they do," answered Valentine, "but he throws it away
somehow; and he's the most selfish fellow in the world, and never
spends a halfpenny on any one but himself."

Raymond was certainly no great addition to the party at Brenlands. His
manners, one could well imagine, resembled those of the ferocious
animal in the Fosberton crest, which capered on a sugar-stick with its
tongue stuck out of its mouth, as though it were making faces at the
world in general. He monopolized the conversation at table, voted
croquet a bore, and spent most of his time lying under a tree smoking
and reading a novel. He fell foul of Joe Crouch (who still came to do
odd jobs in the garden) over some trifling matter, calling him an
impudent blockhead, and telling Miss Fenleigh in a lofty manner that
"he would never allow such a cheeky beggar to be hanging about the
premises at Grenford."

"I am sick of the fellow," said Valentine to Helen that same evening.
"I wish he wouldn't come here during the holidays;