I perceive his magnificent scorn didn't
quite annihilate you; I think, though, he was three hours embellishing
himself to-night."

"Frank, that's impossible!" cried Louis, laughing, "for it was four
o'clock when he went, and it's only half-past six now."

"Cease your speech, and eat your booty: I dare say it is sweet enough;
sweetness is the usual concomitant of goods so obtained."

"What do you mean, Frank?" asked Louis.

"Sweet little innocent; of course he don't know--no, in course he
don't--how should he? they came into his hand by accident," said Frank,
mockingly; "I wish such fortunate accidents would happen to me."

"They were given to me, Frank," said Louis, quietly. "Mrs. Wilkinson
gave them to me when she told me I must not stay in the study."

"What a kind person Mrs. Wilkinson is!--oh! Louis, Louis, _Tanta est
depravitas humani generis_!"

"FRANK!" shouted Reginald, "at your peril!"

"Well, my dear--what, is my life in peril from you again? I must take
care then."

"Come, Frank, have done," cried one of his class-fellows, "can't you
leave Louis Mortimer alone--it doesn't signify to you."

"I only meant to admonish him by a gentle hint, that he must not presume
to contradict gentlemen whose honor and veracity may at least be on a
par with his own."

"Frank," said Louis, "I cannot think how you can suppose me guilty of
such meanness."

"The least said, the soonest mended," remarked Salisbury. "We must have
large powers of credence where you are concerned. Clear off your old
scores, and then we will begin a new one with you."

Reginald started to his feet. "You shall rue this, Salisbury."

"Two can play at your game," rejoined Salisbury, rising.

Reginald was springing forward, but was checked by Louis, who threw
himself on him. "Do not fight, dear Reginald--do not, pray."

"I will--unhand me, Louis! I tell you I WILL--let me go."

"Dear Reginald, not for me--wait a minute."

At this moment the form behind them fell with a heavy bang, and in
struggling to release himself, Reginald fell over it, dragging Louis
with him. Louis was a little hurt, but he did not let go his hold.
"Reginald," he said, "ask Mrs. Wilkinson to say so herself; they will
believe her, I suppose."

The fall had a little checked his rage, and Reginald sat brooding in
sullen anger on the ground. At last he started up and left the room,
saying to Louis, "It's all your fault, then--you've no spirit, and
you don't want me