nks to
them. However, I will speak to him after dinner, and see what there
is in him.'

And Lord Vieuxbois turned away, and, alas for Lancelot! sat next to
Argemone at dinner. Lancelot, who was cross with everybody for what
was nobody's fault, revenged himself all dinner-time by never
speaking a word to his next neighbour, Miss Newbroom, who was
longing with all her heart to talk sentiment to him about the
Exhibition; and when Argemone, in the midst of a brilliant word-
skirmish with Lord Vieuxbois, stole a glance at him, he chose to
fancy that they were both talking of him, and looked more cross than
ever.

After the ladies retired, Lancelot, in his sulky way, made up his
mind that the conversation was going to be ineffably stupid; and set
to to dream, sip claret, and count the minutes till he found himself
in the drawing-room with Argemone. But he soon discovered, as I
suppose we all have, that 'it never rains but it pours,' and that
one cannot fall in with a new fact or a new acquaintance but next
day twenty fresh things shall spring up as if by magic, throwing
unexpected light on one's new phenomenon. Lancelot's head was full
of the condition-of-the-poor question, and lo! everybody seemed
destined to talk about it.

'Well, Lord Vieuxbois,' said the host, casually, 'my girls are
raving about your new school. They say it is a perfect antiquarian
gem.'

'Yes, tolerable, I believe. But Wales has disappointed me a little.
That vile modernist naturalism is creeping back even into our
painted glass. I could have wished that the artist's designs for
the windows had been a little more Catholic.'

'How then?' asked the host, with a puzzled face.

'Oh, he means,' said Bracebridge, 'that the figures' wrists and
ankles were not sufficiently dislocated, and the patron saint did
not look quite like a starved rabbit with its neck wrung. Some of
the faces, I am sorry to say, were positively like good-looking men
and women.'

'Oh, I understand,' said Lord Minchampstead; 'Bracebridge's tongue
is privileged, you know, Lord Vieuxbois, so you must not be angry.'

'I don't see my way into all this,' said Squire Lavington (which was
very likely to be true, considering that he never looked for his
way). 'I don't see how all these painted windows, and crosses, and
chanting, and the deuce and the Pope only know what else, are to
make boys any better.'

'We have it on the highest authorit