"
"Arthur is our brother, therefore we feel it more pointedly than
Gaunt," sensibly remarked Charley.
"I'd advise you not to spell forth that sentimental rubbish, though you
are a young lady," retorted Tom. "A senior boy, if he does his duty,
should make every boy's cause his own, and 'feel' for him."
"Tom," said the younger and more thoughtful of the two, "don't let us
say anything of this at home."
"Why not?" asked Tom, hotly. He would have run in open-mouthed.
"It would pain mamma to hear it."
"Boy! do you suppose _she_ would fear Arthur?"
"You seem to misconstrue all I say, Tom. Of course she would not fear
him--you did not fear him; but it stung you, I know, as was proved by
your knocking down Pierce."
"Well, I won't speak of it before her," conciliated Tom, somewhat won
over, "or before my father, either; but catch me keeping it from the
rest."
As Charles had partially foretold, they had barely entered, when Tom's
face again became ornamented with crimson. Annabel shrieked out,
startling Mr. Channing on his sofa. Mrs. Channing, as it happened, was
not present; Constance was: Lady Augusta Yorke and her daughters were
spending part of the day in the country, therefore Constance had come
home at twelve.
"Look at Tom's face!" cried the child. "What has he been doing?"
"Hold your tongue, little stupid," returned Tom, hastily bringing his
handkerchief into use again; which, being a white one, made the worse
exhibition of the two, with its bright red stains.
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