y, yet with an
indulgent smile,--"I wish you would not be so boisterous! You've nearly
knocked my bonnet off."

"No, I haven't," laughed Ernest; "it's as straight as--wait a bit!" And
waving a lead pencil in the air, he drew an imaginary stroke with it.
"The middle feather is bobbing up and down just on a line with your
nose--it couldn't be better!"

"There, go along, you silly boy!" said Mrs. Marvelle, amused in spite of
herself. "Get back to your lessons. There'll be no circus for you if you
don't behave properly! I'm going to see your mother."

"Mamma's reading," announced Ernest. "Mudie's cart has just been and
brought a lot of new novels. Mamma wants to finish them all before
night. I say, are you going to stop to lunch?"

"Ernest, why are you making such a noise in the passage?" said a gentle,
grave voice at this juncture. "I am waiting for you, you know. You
haven't finished your work yet. Ah, Mrs. Marvelle! How do you do?"

And Lord Winsleigh came forward and shook hands. "You will find her
ladyship in, I believe. She will be delighted to see you. This young
scapegrace," here he caressed his son's clustering curls tenderly--"has
not yet done with his lessons--the idea of the circus to-day seems to
have turned his head."

"Papa, you promised you'd let me off Virgil this morning!" cried Ernest,
slipping his arm coaxingly through his father's. Lord Winsleigh smiled.
Mrs. Rush-Marvelle shook her head with a sort of mild reproachfulness.

"He really ought to go to school," she said, feigning severity. "You
will find him too much for you, Winsleigh, in a little while."

"I think not," replied Lord Winsleigh, though an anxious look troubled
for an instant the calm of his deep-set grey eyes. "We get on very well
together, don't we, Ernest?" The boy glanced up fondly at his father's
face and nodded emphatically. "At a public-school, you see, the boys are
educated on hard and fast lines--all ground down to one
pattern,--there's no chance of any originality possible. But don't let
me detain you, Mrs. Marvelle--you have no doubt much to say to Lady
Winsleigh. Come, Ernest! If I let you off Virgil, you must do the rest
of your work thoroughly."

And with a courteous salute, the grave, kindly-faced nobleman re-entered
his library, his young son clinging to his arm and pouring forth boyish
confidences, which seemingly received instant attention and
sympathy,--while Mrs. Rush-Marvelle looked after their retreating
fi