I am beginning to understand the interest taken by a friend of theirs and mine in these two young men. Augustus Treherne and Colin Granton. Though neither particularly clever, they have both two qualities sufficiently rare in all men to make one thankful to find them in any--uprightness of character and unselfishness of disposition. By-the-by, I never knew but one thoroughly unselfish man in all my life, and that was-- Well, and it was _not_ Francis Charteris, of whom I am now speaking. The aforesaid little interchange of civility passed between him and me on the Saturday after Christmas-day, when I had been searching for him with a letter from Penelope. (There was in the postbag another letter, addressed to Sir William, which made me feel sure we should have no more guests to-day, nor, consequently, till Monday. Indeed, the letter, which, after some difficulty, I obtained in the shape of cigar-lighters, made no mention of any such possibility at all; but then it had been _a promise._) Francis put my sister's note into his pocket, and went on with the game so earnestly that when Augustus came behind and caught hold of him, he started as if he had been collared by a policeman. “My dear fellow, beg pardon, but the governor wants to know if you have written that letter?” Lisa had told me what it was--the letter of acceptance of the appointment offered him, which ought to have been sent immediately. Francis looked annoyed. “Plenty of time.--My compliments to Sir William, and I'll--think about it.” “Cool!” muttered Augustus. “'Tis your look-out, Charteris, not mine--only, one way or other, your answer must go to-day, for my father has heard from--” Here he reined up, as he himself would say; but having seen the handwriting in the post-bag, I guessed who was meant. “Heard from whom, did you say? Some of the officious persons who are always so obliging as to keep my uncle informed of my affairs?” “Nonsense--that is one of your crotchets. You have no warmer friend than my father, if only you wouldn't rub him up the wrong way. Come along, and have done with it. Otherwise--you know him of old--the old gentleman will get uncommon savage.” “Though I have the honour of knowing Sir William Treherne of old, I really cannot be accountable for his becoming 'uncommon savage,'” said Francis, haughtily. “Mr. Granton, will you be marker this game?” “Upon my word, he is the coolest customer! By George, Charteris, if you wanted Penelope as much as I did my wife--” “Excuse me,” returned Francis, “_I_ have never mentioned Miss Johnston's name.”